


Revelation

by sapphyr_raven



Series: Rebellion, Resignation, Revelation and Resolution [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: Abandonment, Age Difference, Blangst, F/F, F/M, Klaine, M/M, Recreational Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-11 02:07:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 33,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1167343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sapphyr_raven/pseuds/sapphyr_raven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continuing from the events of 'Resignation' - things are about to get heated between Kurt, Blaine and Douglas... </p><p> </p><p>Series Description:<br/>AU from season 4 - 'Glease'. Blaine and Kurt never made-up - Kurt, hurt by Blaine's transgression, cut himself off from his old life and refused any and all further contact leaving Blaine lost and broken in Lima. This is the tale of how rebellion, resignation, and revelations eventually led to their resolution. Or - how Kurt saved Blaine from himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Announcements

## Revelation

_Experience is a revelation in the light of which we renounce our errors of youth for those of age._

-          _Ambrose Bierce_

 

### Announcements

            ‘Don’t you _dare_ raise your voice like that to me, young man!’

            ‘You aren’t even _listening_!  I’m not doing anything illegal or wrong I’m just moving in with my boyfriend when I graduate!’

            ‘ _Boy_ friend!  Boyfriend!’

            ‘Why does everyone keep fixating on age?’

            ‘Because you are a nineteen year old highschooler who is being groomed by a wayward degenerate!’

            ‘You don’t even know him!’

            ‘Because he wasn’t around, Blaine!  Try to see it from our perspective for a moment – he disappears from his own family for years, then reappears only to lay eyes on an attractive young man then suddenly decides -’

            ‘You’re 18 years older than mom!  I don’t see a difference!  No one’s ever accused you of _grooming_ her!  If you were having this discussion with Coop – if he were moving in with an older _woman_ – you’d be _congratulating_ him.’

            ‘Choose your next words very carefully, Blaine.  This is not about your sexuality.’

            ‘Roger knows.  Roger’s known for _months_.’

            ‘I’m going to give you some home truths, my boy, and if you don’t listen I can guarantee you’ll regret it.’

            ‘I already regret having this conversation.’

            ‘Blaine!’  It was the first and last word his mother said – a mouse squeak in a cathedral.

            ‘Let me tell you this, Blaine – you think that because a select number of open-minded individuals are supportive that the rest of the world will be too.  But they won’t be.  Not even in _wonderfully_ _accepting_ New York.  People won’t see two men in love – they will see a young man and his father, or uncle.  They’ll see an older man with his toy boy.  They’ll see what they want to see, and they’ll talk.  People will talk and rumours will start and I’ll be damned if I let that happen to you, Blaine.  What happens when Douglas finds someone younger?  Hm?’

            ‘He’s not like that?’

            ‘How you know?  What happens when Douglas’ parents cut him out of the will and he loses everything?  Do you really think he’ll let it go that far for you, Blaine?  Should he?  Say he does – say he does love you the way you say he does – and he loses everything.  What then?  What happens when, and it could be _years_ away, what happens when he gets bitter?’

            ‘It’s not like that!’

            ‘Blaine – you’re a teenager!  You don’t _know_ what people can be like.’

            ‘You sound just like Cooper!’

            ‘I’m glad he’s learnt some sense!’

            ‘You can say what you like – after graduation I’m moving in with Douglas!’

            ‘You would ruin his life?  Ruin your own life?  Ruin the reputation of this family?’

            ‘Why can’t you see that I’m _happy_?’

            ‘Because you only _think_ you are!’

            ‘I know my own feelings!’

            ‘What makes you so certain _this time_ , Blaine?  We supported you when you came out, we supported you when you were bullied – we got you into Dalton – and we supported you when you said you wanted to transfer because you wanted to be with Kurt.  We supported you when you wanted to move back to Dalton, Blaine, because we thought you’d learnt.  Have you even told Kurt about this plan of yours?  What does he think?  We just want what is best for you, Blaine.’

            ‘And what is that, exactly?’

            ‘Go to college in New York, live in halls there – we’re not stopping you.  Just don’t move in with a man you hardly know!’

            ‘You really haven’t heard a word I’ve said have you?’

He leaves the room.

            ‘Don’t you _dare_ walk away from me when I am talking to you!’

He keeps walking.

            ‘Blaine Devon Anderson – if you walk out that door don’t even think about coming back!’

He keeps walking as the echo chases him into the darkness.

            _Back!  Ack!  Ack!_

 

-+-

 

            It’s the same nightmare every night and he idly wonders if it will ever dissipate.  The words flap around his head on jet wings, circling like crows, and he closes his eyes in an attempt to chase away the last of the echoing _caw_ s.  He is not even certain if that was how his last conversation with his family went anymore – how much is fabrication due to his overactive imagination coupled with a flair for the dramatic he would probably never know.  He yawned and rolled onto his side to find Douglas’ pillow cold and empty.  He stretches, cat-like, and then reaches for his phone only to remember that he had turned it off _days_ ago.  He considers turning it on – but his parents have probably had it disconnected by now – before he is distracted by the shrill call of the telephone. 

            ‘Hello?’

            ‘Mr. Anderson?’

            ‘Speaking.’

            ‘Mrs. Chambers would like you to know that she accepts your proposition based on the conditions she outlined during your last conversation.  She looks forward to the invite.  Good day, sir.’

            ‘Thank yo-.’  The line goes dead before he can finish and his jaw snaps shut.  ‘So – this is it.’  He takes a breath and lets it out in a long stream.  ‘You can do this, Blaine.  Prove them all wrong.’

 

-+-

 

            The coffee shop is mostly empty so he has his pick of seats.  He settles down in a corner, out of the view of the windows – he does not much feel like being on display today.  Sebastian idly looks around, and seeing no one he recognises, relaxes a little as he stirs his coffee.  The vibrations against his thigh demand his attention and he slides his phone out of his uniform trouser pocket.  He does not recognise the number but he answers anyway.

            ‘Bas.’

            ‘Blaine!  How are you?  You’ve had us all worried sick!’

            ‘I’m fine, I’m fine.  I thought Doug told you – I’m at Douglas’.’

            ‘I know.  But that doesn’t mean you’re OK.’

            ‘I’m…  I’m alright.’

            ‘Blaine – you can’t bullshit me.’

            ‘I’m not.  I’m alright.’

            ‘Your family _abandoned_ you!’

            ‘We had a disagreement and it turns out that they had a different view on how I should live my life than I do.’

            ‘You make it sound so…clinical.’

            ‘In a way it is – someday soon I expect a thick, faceless, manila envelope to come in the post asking me to sign to say I am formally independent of my family.  That’s all there is to say.  Anyway, how are you?’

            ‘Don’t “ _anyway, how are you_ ” me.’

            ‘I’m sorry I scared you.  I didn’t mean to upset anybody.’

            ‘You never do, do you?’

            ‘Hm.’

            ‘So… you coming tomorrow or do I have to do all the dirty work?’

            ‘No – I’ll be there.’

            ‘Good.’

            ‘Good.’

            ‘Need somewhere to stay while you’re here?’

            ‘No…uh…Douglas’ coming with so we’ll probably stay in a hotel or something.’

            ‘Oh.  OK.’

            ‘Bas…’

            ‘Yeah?’

He hears Blaine pause on the end of the line.  He can hear his friend’s ragged breathing and Sebastian frowns in response.

            ‘What’s up?  You can talk to me about anything, you know.  I’m not going to fly off the handle at you.  I promise.’

            ‘I know, Bas.  Thank you.  It’s just…  I’m scared.’

            ‘Why?’

            ‘I think I have a way to make everything better, and I guess I just…  It’s big – huge actually, and I wanted… I would like some reassurance?’

            ‘God, you’re being a white knight again, aren’t you?  For the love of all that is holy, Blaine, please tell me it does not involve serenading anyone.’

The squeaky laugh crackling down the line makes Sebastian laugh in response but it his smile fades quickly when Blaine does not try to elaborate past a perfunctory response in the negative to Sebastian’s jibe.

            ‘Blaine?  You do know that it isn’t up to you to fix everything all the time, right?’

            ‘Hm.’

            ‘Come on – what is it?’

Sebastian thinks he can hear a muffled click and strains to listen when he hears a man’s voice call out.

            ‘Sorry, Bas – I have to go.  I’ll… see you tomorrow.’

            ‘Sure.  Bye, Blaine.’

            ‘Thanks, Bas.’

He idly taps the edge of his phone against the table as his mind whirrs before deciding to save the number, figuring it is Douglas’.  His coffee is a good temperature when he goes to finally drink it, and he sends a quick prayer to the coffee gods for not letting it go completely cold, before tacking on a prayer for his friend – maybe the coffee gods will listen.

 

-+-

 

            Seeing his friends is harder than it should have been – they are all lined up and excitable in their gowns and caps and Blaine feels more than a little overwhelmed by the _muchness_ of everything – the music, the hugs, the sympathetic looks…  He struggles to maintain his smiling, glossy front until he feels Sebastian’s eyes on him and for the first time in his life he wishes his surname did not begin with ‘A’.  He sees Hunter and Doug standing close to each other with the other ‘C’s and sends them a quick salute _hello_ – Hunter raises an eyebrow before sending a return salute in an overly serious manner that makes Blaine feel like a sea captain about to go down with the ship – and Doug simply smiles sadly.  He hears his name called and makes his way out and onto the stage, purposefully ignoring the seats where his parents will be absent in the crowd of proud family and friends of the rest of the graduating student body. 

            _Except for Douglas.  And Roger._

He manages not to trip on the edge of his gown, shakes the correct hand of the guest speaker, and makes his way to his designated seat ready to wait out the ceremony.  The rest of his peers trickle across the stage like water, filling the rows of seats beside him with an ever growing rushing of rustling fabric, paper, and voices.  He has to hold back a laugh at the pomp and circumstance behind the Dalton ceremony - suddenly yearning for the celebratory fun atmosphere of the previous years’ graduation at McKinley. 

Eventually he is called up to speak as valedictorian and he makes it through the speech – people laugh in all the right places, and he swears he sees tears in at least a couple of eyes – but he forces himself not to think about how _proud_ Cooper would have been at that.  He closes the ceremony by inviting the graduating Warblers to the stage to join the younger members in singing a final song together, and it does feel final.

 

-+-

 

            He is making his final goodbyes to the majority of his friends – he’s not naïve – he’s seen what happens with time, so he does not expect the hand on his shoulder to be Burt’s.  The crushing hug forces the air from his lungs so he does not cry out in surprise, only takes a small stumble backwards once released and tries to remember how to breathe.  His eyes dart quickly because if Burt is there that may mean that…

            ‘He’s not with me.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘Your speech was great up there.’

            ‘Thank you, sir-‘  He catches the older man’s raised eyebrow – so like Kurt’s and quickly recovers.  ‘Burt.’

            ‘Hope you didn’t mind me coming along – I just – well, you’re family to me, kid, and you’ve got to keep family close.’

            ‘It means a lot.  Thank you.’

            ‘Good.  Well – um…I suppose I should be headin’ back.  I wouldn’t want to keep you from a meal with your folk-…uh…I mean…’

            ‘It’s fine, Burt.  Thanks.’

            ‘If you ever need anything – you call.’

            ‘I will.  I’m fine, really.’

            ‘Alright.  Well – good to see you.’

            ‘Good to see you too, Burt.  Thank you for coming.’

They have a moment where neither seems to know whether to shake hands or to hug, but they both, wordlessly, settle on the latter and Blaine inhales the rich scent of motor oil that will always remind him of chestnut hair, blue eyes and the promise of summer.

Overwhelmed, he takes a step back.

            ‘Take care of yourself, Blaine.’

            ‘You too, Burt.’

 

-+-

 

            ‘Blaine – please think about what you are saying.’

It was not supposed to go like this – this was an utter disaster.

            ‘I _have_ thought about it.’

            ‘Darling, I know you feel like it is your fault, but this really isn’t.’

            ‘So everyone keeps telling me, but, Douglas – _please_ hear me out, OK?’

Swirling chocolate pools finally focus on Blaine’s own eyes and Blaine waits until Douglas seems calm enough to listen.

            ‘As I was saying – they were right.  I’ve thought a lot about this and they were all right.  People aren’t going to understand.  They are going to talk and assume and it will-‘  He raises an eyebrow when Douglas begins to interject.  ‘It will affect us.  Think about it objectively for a moment.’

            ‘What do you think I have been doing for the last few months?’

            ‘Exactly.  Look – I spoke to your mother –‘

            ‘Blaine –‘

            ‘I spoke to Julia, and we came to an agreement that should work for everyone – people outside will be satisfied and your reputation will remain as tarnish-free as ever.’

            ‘Hm.  You talk about everyone else – what about _you_?  You’re all I care about.’

            ‘And _you_ I, but we have to be realistic here.’

Douglas bows his head then looks up again as if resigning himself to listen to his own order of execution.

            ‘Come on.  It’s a good thing.  For both of us.  At least – I hope it is.’

Blaine kneels on the floor between Douglas’ legs where he is sat on the couch and takes his partner’s hands in what he hopes is a soothing and reassuring gesture.

            ‘Your mother will support us and she won’t let your father write you out.’

            ‘What’s the condition, Blaine?’

            ‘You make it sound so cold.’

            ‘What did you trade?’

            ‘I simply pointed out that the business would benefit from looking progressive, morally speaking – the world is changing, and old fashioned values don’t cut it anymore.  I simply proposed that cutting you out for being who you are would look barbaric to the modern marketplace.’

            ‘And she agreed?’  Douglas looks far from convinced, if a little impressed, and Blaine takes the opportunity to kiss the hand he holds.

            ‘She agreed.’

            ‘Where’s the catch?’

            ‘OK.  Well – she, like everyone, is apparently concerned about our relationship.’

            ‘Appearances are everything to some people.’

            ‘Exactly.’

            ‘Blaine?’

            ‘She told me about the clause – the marriage clause.’

            ‘Yes – even she can’t talk father around that one.’

            ‘Well, apparently she doesn’t have to.’

Douglas raises an eyebrow and Blaine knows that he has to word this perfectly.

            ‘It doesn’t say _woman_.  It’s assumed, but it doesn’t say it explicitly.’  He pauses to take a breath and holds Douglas’ hand tighter in his own.  ‘I can’t stand to watch you lose your family like I did.  You’ve lost them once before and you’re only just getting them back.  So, marry me, Douglas.  It doesn’t have to be right now – but at some point in the future.  Marry me and the rumours go away, and they can’t cut you out-‘

            ‘Blaine, darling, you can’t hear yourself, can you?’

            ‘I’m being serious.’

            ‘I know you are.  I know.  But this is not the answer.’

It feels like a sledge hammer.

            _First Cooper, then his parents, now Douglas.  No._

            ‘I know exactly what I’m asking.  I am asking you to marry me.  I love you.’

            ‘I love you too.’

            ‘Then marry me.’

            ‘Blaine, I – we need to think this through rationally -‘

Douglas drops from the sofa to the floor in front of Blaine and tries to take Blaine’s hands, but the younger pulls away.

            ‘What’s there to think through?  You either want to marry me or you don’t?  They’re right – this looks bad to everyone on the outside.  I watched their faces during dinner at Breadstix with Roger’s family – everyone was looking at us!  They all assume I’m some naïve school kid being seduced by an old man -’

            ‘Blaine – marrying you won’t solve that.’

            ‘I know.  But it will stop your father taking everything away from you and it will stop some of them…’

            ‘Oh, sweetheart, I appreciate the concern – and –‘

            ‘Don’t.’  He stands too quickly and the blood rushes from his head causing him to stumble.

            ‘Blaine – don’t leave.  Talk to me.’

            ‘I need some fresh air.’

            ‘Blaine, please -’

            ‘I don’t know what I was thinking!  Obviously, I’m mentally impaired in some way – I keep making terrible decisions for people I love!’

He hears Douglas scramble to his feet and make to follow him, but he’s running now.  The elevator is waiting and he feels the doors _swoosh_ closed behind him.  His head is pounding and he forces himself not to throw up in the pristine elevator.   Lilies crowd him - pushing at his senses, drowning him in floral hell, until he is released into the foyer.  Attempting to hold together some shred of dignity he manages to walk with the appearance of serenity through to the doors.  Markus holds them open for him, and Blaine manages to throw him a quick _thank you_ smile before hailing the first yellow cab he spots. 

            ‘Where to?’

But he does not know.  He has not thought that far ahead and now the cab driver is looking at him like he is some deranged reprobate on the wrong side of the river, and Douglas could come chasing after him at any moment, and he feels like he cannot breathe.  He needs to be somewhere he can breathe.  He needs air.

 

-+-

 

            It is late when Kurt gets in from his shift at the diner – his feet are aching and his back feels like it is entirely composed of knots.  He runs a hand through his hair and groans when he makes contact with grease, strips as quickly as he can manage without falling over or smelling his foody clothes, and makes for the shower.  The hot water does little to ease the tightness in his muscles and the banging pipes feel louder than normal leaving him feeling more unsettled than relaxed.  He clicks his tongue stud against his teeth three times before he switches the water off waiting for the familiar _clunk bang bank_ of the pipes before stepping out onto the bathmat.  Steam seeps under the door indicating that the front door had opened and Kurt frowns slightly because the girls are not due back for another couple of hours having picked up the late shift this week.  He wraps a towel around himself and, clicking his stud three times, opens the door. 

            ‘Anyone home?’

He almost jumps out of his skin when he sees Santana emerge from behind the divider curtain clutching something that looks suspiciously like her uniform in her hands.

            ‘Do not say a word – I wasn’t here!’

            ‘Wha-?’

            ‘Not a word!’

She leaves almost as suddenly as she came, and Kurt can do no more than chalk it up to another Santana eccentricity – like her compulsion to go through everyone’s belongings, or the way she is usually freakishly right when it comes down to giving advice or acting on hunches.  Shaking excess water droplets from his hair he makes his way to his own space and settles down in front of his mirror and begins his moisturising regimen.

 

-+-

 

            He physically bumps into Santana and she has him by the throat and up against the wall before he has even processed the enormity of the situation.

            ‘What are you doing here, hobbit?’

            ‘I have no idea.’

            ‘Well until you do you can take your sweet little ass back to wherever it is you call home these days because you are so painfully, painfully mistaken if you think I’m going to let you head on up there with “ _no idea_ ” what you’re doing.’

Blaine does not even fight her; he simply turns and walks away.  Ignoring further insults and threats – she was right – he cannot expect to show up at Kurt’s like this.  What was he even thinking?

            _You weren’t thinking._

He takes the Latina’s advice and heads to the only home he has feeling utterly spent.  

 

-+-

 

            Douglas holds him tightly and presses a kiss to his temple.

            ‘ - I’m so sorry. - ’

            ‘ - I’m sorry. - ’

They speak over each other and Douglas feels Blaine tense a little against him.

            ‘Our first fight.’

            ‘Can we not do that again?  Please?  I just… I can’t.’  Blaine huffs a little hiccup of breath.

            ‘I know.  I’m sorry – you were right, Blaine.  I wasn’t listening to you.  I’m sorry, darling.’

The admission is so heartfelt that the weight of it makes Blaine feel like he is sinking; slipping into warm satin.  Exhaustion from the past weeks’ events bowls into him and he feels like he could sleep forever.  He slumps a little into Douglas’ embrace and feels Douglas tighten in response.

            ‘Can we just sleep now?  Talk more in the morning?’

            ‘Of course we can.’

 

-+-

 

            They change in silence and Douglas takes in just how _tired_ Blaine looks.  After Blaine had left he had tortured himself by going over and over their fight in his head and, looking back, he realises what Blaine was actually offering.  The enormity of it hits him and he is suddenly overwhelmingly ashamed.  Blaine found a loop hole.  A loop hole his parents agreed with.  He did it for Douglas and Douglas had treated him like a child because _he_ was scared.  He was scared – not Blaine.  Blaine was an adult – he knew his own mind and it was not for Douglas to _protect_ him.  He gently brushed a stray curl away from Blaine’s forehead with the back of his hand before pressing a kiss to his love’s temple.

            ‘Please forgive me, Blaine.’

 


	2. Lead Balloons

### Lead Balloons

            He meant to talk about it – he really did, but since their first fight things had started going wrong at work and Douglas had found himself falling back into old habits.  The fact that Blaine was so _easy_ to live with did not help matters.  Since he had gifted the guest apartment to the younger man, a part of Douglas had been concerned that Blaine would choose to move in there – but his need to ensure that Blaine never felt trapped with him won out over his own insecurities.  The hours he had spent pathetically fretting turned out to be wasted anyway – since Blaine’s disagreement with his parents, the young man had exclusively stayed in Douglas’ penthouse with him.  The fact that, since then, they had also shared the master suite was an added bonus and meant that the awkward _sleeping arrangements_ conversation had never been broached. 

Living with Blaine was actually easy – Douglas had struggled, before, living with other people.  He had, of course, had no choice with Roger, but since then, a series of disastrous flat-shares and half-attempts at living with boyfriends had left him disillusioned and convinced that he was born a perpetual bachelor.  Like in all things, Blaine had proven him unequivocally wrong.  The younger man was neat and unobtrusive, he had a sixth sense for when Douglas needed to be left alone, or when he needed a good distraction.  Unlike others before him, Blaine never complained about the hours Douglas kept with work, and never seemed at a loss for something to do – so, when it came to the day-to-day it seemed that their dry-run over the previous winter had not been a fluke. 

The months passed by so quickly – Douglas had helped Blaine choose his college courses, spending hours with trash television on in the background together with a binder and piles of papers playing top-trumps with electives.  Work had picked up dramatically and the likelihood of a second trip to China was looking more and more like a reality.  The building stress levels had started to take their toll on Douglas and he was certain that their second argument had been escalated by that fact.

It had started with an envelope.

            ‘I had to guess an amount.’  Blaine’s eyes flicker to where the offending object lies before Douglas at the breakfast bar.

            ‘What’s this?’  He does not touch it.

            ‘For bills and stuff.’ 

Blaine looks away – they never _talk_ about money; it is an unwritten rule – a product of their upbringings: talking about money is crass.

            ‘Blaine, you don’t –‘

            ‘I know.  I want to.’

Their eyes meet and Douglas finds himself fascinated by the way the strong summer light touches the little green and gold flecks suspended in the Manuka honey of Blaine’s eyes.  _They are dark today_ he muses.

            ‘How can you aff-‘

            ‘I got a job.’  It is flippant, as if it is nothing, and it is the tone that surprises him more than the four tiny words.

            ‘Where?’

            ‘Playing piano at one of the jazz bars down on 90 West between Laguardia and Thompson.’

            ‘You said you were out with friends.’

            ‘I was.  Charlie –‘

            ‘Blaine, you know how I feel about you spending time with Benedict Charles.’

            ‘We’ve been through this – he’s a friend.  It’s not like I _know_ people here, Douglas.  Wouldn’t you rather I have fun with people I know?  Hm?’ 

Blaine has a point, Douglas _knows_ he does, but for some reason the younger man’s choice of words strikes a deep fault line within him and something rumbles.

            ‘Because you don’t have fun with me.’

            ‘Come on, Douglas.  Don’t start.  I didn’t say that!  You’ve been busy with work and –‘

            ‘You’re young.  You want to party and have fun –‘

            ‘Don’t.’  Blaine’s eyes darken and Douglas forces himself to try to be rational – pressing back against the overwhelming urge to give into the clawing insecurities fracturing down like shards of glass, deep within his core.

            ‘You’re right – you’re right.  So – tell me more about this piano bar.’

He does not respond immediately – he studies Douglas, and not for the first time, he wonders what Blaine actually sees in him.

            ‘It’s called _Bar Henry Bistro_ – you’d like it actually – and I play there on Monday and Tuesday nights.  They asked me to do Fridays as well but that’s one of the only evenings we get together anymore, and once college starts in a couple of weeks…  So, I said no.  OK?  Because you -,’ Blaine moves around behind Douglas’ perch on the bar stool and drapes his arms around his shoulders.  ‘Spending time with y _ou_ is the most important thing to me.’

He knows he should drop it.  He knows he should.  But it is an itch and he cannot stop himself.

            ‘You don’t need to work you know.’

            ‘I want to.’

            ‘Alright.  But you don’t need to.  I can –‘

            ‘So help me, if the next word that leaves your lips is _support_ I will leave.’ 

Blaine’s arms around his shoulders disappear and Douglas finds himself annoyed by their loss.

            ‘I can though.’

            ‘I don’t need you to support me, Douglas.’

He should have dropped it.  He really should have dropped it.

            ‘So, how much do you make playing piano two nights a week?’

            ‘We’re doing this now?  Really?’

He watches Blaine pace away from him to glare out of the window down on the avenue below.  Douglas turns a little to watch him – he knows he won, but he still needs to scratch.

            ‘I’m being serious.’

            ‘So am I.  I’m not stupid – I know I can’t afford to pay my share of _this_ , but I want to contribute what I can.  Why is that so hard to understand?’

            ‘Keep it.  Get yourself some-‘

            ‘Say “ _something nice_ ”, Douglas.  Go on.’

            ‘-books.  For college.’

Blaine rolls his eyes and glares.  Douglas cannot help the small chuckle that escapes him at the overly dramatic reaction.  He may as well have lit touch paper.

            ‘Oh – so I’m funny now.  Blaine’s _hilarious_.’  The smaller man throws his hands up in the air and Douglas is _gone_.

            ‘Darling, no – I didn’t mean –‘  He can barely get the words out between fits of giggles.

            ‘You don’t mean a lot of things do you?’ 

Douglas feels the air swirl around him in Blaine’s wake as he storms his way to the door.  He slams it.

 

            He feels Blaine slide under the covers beside him and tries to get his bleary eyes to focus enough on the digital clock to work out the time. 

            ‘I’m sorry I stormed out.’

            ‘I’m sorry I was an arse.’

            ‘Old git.’

            ‘Whippersnapper.’

It’s three in the morning.  He guesses Blaine must have been at work – not out partying as he had imagined oh so often over the past weeks, riling himself up into a jealous and bitter frenzy.  Douglas rolls over to face Blaine’s back and gently slides an arm around his partner’s waist.  He encounters no resistance but Blaine does not relax.  Douglas frowns.

            ‘How was work?’     

            ‘Busy.’

            ‘Tell me about it?’

            ‘Not much to tell – an older lady tipped me a hundred.’

            ‘What did you do?’

            ‘I have a nice smile apparently.’

            ‘That’s definitely true.’

Douglas presses a kiss to Blaine’s shoulder and listens to his breathing start to even out.

            ‘I really am sorry, Blaine.  I just…’

            ‘You don’t have to explain.’

            ‘I feel like I do.’

            ‘I know that feeling.’

            ‘I know you do.’

Blaine moves his arm then and for a terrifying moment Douglas expects Blaine to leave him, but instead he rolls to face him.

            ‘You’re all I have.’  The admission is shaky and a silent tear rolls down one flushed cheek.

            ‘Oh, sweetheart.  That’s not true.  That’s not true at all.’ 

Douglas holds him then. 

Eventually Blaine’s arms wrap around him in response. 

Douglas’ shirt is wet by the time Blaine’s breathing calms.

            ‘…sorry.’

            ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’

            ‘’m though.’

            ‘Get some rest, darling.  It’s late.  I’ll still be here in the morning – I’m not going anywhere.  I’m not going to leave you.’

            ‘Promise?’

            ‘I promise.’

 

-+-

 

            ‘It’s not healthy, Kurt.’

            ‘I am sure I have no idea what you are talking about.’

He busies himself with the dishes as the brunette watches him cautiously from the sofa. 

            ‘Ku-r-t!’

She draws the sound out in that way that, seemingly, only she can.  He had thought that particular skill was reserved for siblings only, but Rachel always manages to prove him wrong.  He restrains himself from mimicking her – instead focusing on the task at hand.  He had taken over the chore exclusively since he had tired of re-doing the job every time the girls had done it after finding their work was not up to scratch.  Oddly enough, neither had complained.

            ‘Tell me, Kurt.’

            ‘There’s nothing to tell.’

            ‘You went out on a date.’

            ‘It was not a date.’

            ‘Sure looked like one.’

            ‘It wasn’t.’

            ‘Did he pay?’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘Then it was a date.’

            ‘It was coffee.’

            ‘A coffee _date_!’

He throws up his hands in frustration and almost drowns himself with suds from the spatula he had been cleaning.

            ‘Damn it!’  Grabbing the nearest tea towel he manages to blot the worst of it from his favourite summer-weight vest before too much damage was done, ignoring the high-pitched giggle from the living area. 

Fortunately, Rachel knows him well enough to know when to stop – at least until he finishes up and takes a seat beside her at least.

            ‘So – what was wrong with him?’

            ‘Nothing, because it wasn’t a date!’

            ‘Too tall?  He couldn’t have been too short because…well – you know.  Or was it the dinner conversation?’

            ‘If I tell you will you please just drop it, Rachel?’  He turns to face her, and she must have seen the thinly veiled edge beneath the surface of his eyes because she nods silently, smile fading into a look of quiet confusion.

            ‘It was Sebastian.’  He stands, unable to look at his friend’s shocked expression for a second longer and spins to stalk off to his own “room”.   ‘That look – that look right there is _exactly_ why I didn’t want to tell you.’ 

            ‘Kurt.  You said you’d leave things be!’

He ignores her and instead starts putting away his carefully and precisely folded laundry from earlier, flicking his tongue stud against his teeth in patterns of three.

            ‘Kurt – talk to me?’

            ‘I’m busy, Rachel.’

            ‘Kurt!’

            ‘Not now!  Why can’t you just leave things be for once in your life?’

            ‘Because I care about you, Kurt.  You’re my best friend.  And you had coffee with _Sebastian_ which can only mean one thing –‘

            ‘Please.’

 

-+-

 

            ‘Never figured you for the piercing type.’

            ‘Yes, well – I always knew you’d end up studying to be a lawyer – some of us have better perception skills than others.  You might want to work on yours if you want to be successful, by the way.’  Kurt tries not to click his stud, self-conscious of it now that Sebastian had noticed and judged him for it.  He takes a sip of his coffee instead - desperate to _do_ something, even though it is still too hot.  ‘I got a tattoo too.’  He has no idea why he said it but he dares the other man to say something with his eyes.

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, his green eyes flashing with curiosity, but he remains silent.

            ‘So – did you find a place yet?’  Kurt finds he needs to say something to break the quiet.

            ‘Yes actually.  I couldn’t stand the idea of living in halls.’

            ‘I bet you couldn’t.’

            ‘Can we not do this?’  Sebastian looks pained and it sets alarm bells ringing in Kurt’s head.

            ‘Do what?’

            ‘This - this ice-queen routine.  We’re not kids anymore and I’m not after your man.’

            ‘I’d have to have one first, right?’  It’s self-defence.

            ‘Kurt.  Please?’ 

Something in the other man’s eyes, the line of his mouth, the set of his shoulders – they scream at Kurt.

            ‘Fine.  What did you want?’

            ‘I’m guessing you know Blaine’s starting Columbia with me next week?’

Kurt’s eyebrows shoot into his immaculate hairline.  He did not know that.  He had assumed Blaine would be sticking to plans and looking at performing arts schools.  Kurt had spent nights dreaming of accidental meetings in corridors at NYADA.

            ‘We’ve not exactly been on speaking terms.’

            ‘Yeah.  I know.’

            ‘How…’

            ‘How is he?’

Kurt manages a nod.

            ‘He’s…he’s fine, I guess.’

            ‘Good.’

            ‘Don’t “ _good_ ” me, Hummel.’

            ‘What do you want me to say?  He _made_ his choice.’

            ‘No – _you_ made the choice.’

            ‘He cheated!’

            ‘You ignored him - he was _miserable_!’          

            ‘I’m not doing this.’  He makes to stand but there is something in Sebastian’s eyes that make Kurt sit back down.  ‘What?  What is it?  You called me to ask me to meet you for coffee, Sebastian.  We’re not friends.  We’ve never been friends.  Coffee is something friends do so there is something you wanted to talk to me about, and it wasn’t to tell me about Columbia.’

Sebastian looks down at his coffee and stirs it before looking up again to meet Kurt’s eyes.

            ‘You’re right.  Look, Kurt – I was terrible before.  I know.  I’m not that guy anymore.  Blaine’s been a really good friend to me…he’s my best friend and I’m…I’m worried about him.’

            ‘Why?  You said he was fine - he’s living with his boyfriend…’

            ‘Fine isn’t happy.’

            ‘What does that even mean?’  Kurt huffs in frustration.

            ‘He called the other day – do you know what he said?  He said nothing.  Nothing about himself – just wanted to know about me: what I was doing, where I was going to live, what the place was like, whether I was seeing anyone…’

            ‘That’s…’

            ‘That’s not happy, Kurt.  Something’s wrong.’

            ‘Have you tried asking him?  Sometimes you need to be direct with Blaine – he can be oblivious.’

Kurt takes another gulp of coffee and watches as Sebastian digs out his phone, then scrawls a number down on a napkin.

            ‘This is his number - I think.  He calls me on it, anyway.’

            ‘That’s great, but _you’re_ his _best friend_ -‘

            ‘No.  I said he’s my best-friend.’

They finish their coffee in relative silence; stilted snippets of conversation about life in New York – where to eat, shop, etcetera.  Both dawdling in their own thoughts.  Sebastian leaves enough money on the table to cover them both, eventually making an excuse about needing to sign contracts for his new place, or something.  Kurt barely hears him – his eyes trace hastily scrawled numbers on cheap tissue. 

 

-+-

 

            The letter arrives, scented, on heavy, headed linen paper.  He leaves it, unread, against the skeleton clock on the mantelpiece and it stares at him through the walls.  Blaine knows who it is from and knows why it is addressed to Douglas and not him. 

He calls Sebastian but only gets the other man’s voicemail. 

He does not leave a message.           

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your comments! I love to read your opinions on what has happened so far and where you think / hope the story is going. I only hope that I continue to keep you guessing.  
> Things are really going to heat up in the next chapter...


	3. Mocking Stags

### Mocking Stags

            It’s late when he gets back and he is exhausted but buzzed from all of the applause.  Blaine expects Douglas to be asleep as usual because, for a couple of hours he was distracted enough to forget about the letter; but Douglas is not asleep – he is very awake and very agitated.  His heart drops to the floor.

            ‘What did she say?’  Blaine knows there is no point in trying to hold off the conversation – they may as well talk about it now.  It’s not like either of them could sleep with it hanging over their heads like a guillotine blade anyway.

            ‘How do you feel, Blaine?’

            ‘About what?  I don’t know what she said.’  He makes his way to the counter and starts to make coffee – not that he needs it to keep awake – no; there are a thousand bees in his mind right now each buzzing with electricity in his hive-mind – he just needs to do something with his hands.

            ‘This is not a game.’

            ‘I’m not saying it is.’

            ‘Would you just look at me?  Please?’

He turns slowly at Douglas’ request and forces himself to make eye contact.  Douglas looks exhausted and Blaine wonders how long he has been standing there with that letter waiting for Blaine to get back.

            ‘Sorry.’ 

            ‘Don’t apologise – just talk to me.’

            ‘I…I don’t know.  What does she want?’

            ‘She wants to know why she has not received an announcement.’

            ‘Did she give a timescale?’

            ‘Not explicitly.’

            ‘Alright – then we have some time.’

            ‘Blaine -’

            ‘We have time to –‘

            ‘Time to _what_?’ 

Blaine freezes – his limbs feel unresponsive, but he manages to blink. 

            ‘I’m sorry, Blaine.  I just…she gets to me.’

            ‘I know.  I brought this on.  Tell me what she said and we’ll work it out?’  Blaine manages to get his limbs to coordinate enough to make his way to Douglas’ side.  He gently splays his fingers over one bicep – touch has always been a comfort to him.

Douglas does not even need to look at the letter.

            ‘She wishes us both well and asks after our health.  She wants to know when I intend on making a formal announcement and reminds me that, not only is she _thrilled_ that I am finally settling down, but that she expected as much when I put you before family, as she hears you have since done also.  She writes that she looks forward to seeing us again and invites us to Southampton for dinner on the 28 th to talk over the details.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘Yeah.’

Blaine manages to prise the paper from Douglas’ hand and puts it on the breakfast bar before taking Douglas’ hand.    

            ‘It’s going to be alright.’  His voice sounds surer than he feels.

 

-+-

 

            ‘It’s not going to be alright.’

            ‘Blaine, calm down.’

            ‘You know that doesn’t help, right?’ 

Sebastian frowns slightly; his mind running in circles trying to make sense of what his friend was telling him.  He buys time to let Blaine breathe by bending to pick up another box.

            ‘What am I going to do, Bas?’

            ‘What do you want to do?’

            ‘I…I don’t know.’

He sighs and turns back to face his distraught friend.

            ‘Do you love him, Blaine?’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘Do you see yourself with him in a year?’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘Five years?’

            ‘I think so.’

            ‘Ten years?’

            ‘Who knows anything about that far ahead?’

            ‘This is serious – you have to be sure.’

            ‘I don’t need you to tell me how serious this is!’  Blaine seems genuinely shocked at the volume of his own voice and closes his eyes before dropping onto the recently assembled bed.  ‘I’m sorry, Bas.  I just – this is probably the biggest decision I will even make in my life, and I don’t know what I’m doing.’

            ‘I know.’  Sebastian sits beside his friend.  He is not certain where to put his hands so he settles with Blaine’s shoulder.  ‘What does Douglas think?’

            ‘He thinks I’m too young to know what I want and that we’ve not been together anywhere near long enough to make this kind of commitment to each other.  Which, on the one hand – I completely agree, but on the other is kind of insulting.’

            ‘Why’s his mom so keen on the idea?’

            ‘Uh…that’s my fault.  I kind of reacted badly when everyone kept telling me how bad it looked – especially with the age difference thing, and when combined with the knowledge that Douglas was giving up everything for me, I thought – you know what’s right here, Blaine.  You can do something right for once.  So I called her – and we talked.  I pointed out a couple of things that maybe she hadn’t considered from a business relations perspective –‘

            ‘You played the _world is changing_ card!’

            ‘Yes.  But, I also found out that the wording of the clause in the inheritance is not specific to the heir marrying a _woman_.’

            ‘We’ll make a lawyer out of you yet.’

            ‘But she may have got it into her head that, because of shared concerns about Douglas’ image on a corporate perspective, as well as social –‘

            ‘The age thing.’

            ‘The age thing, yes.  That a marriage would put some of that to rest, as well as provide some positive (hopefully) publicity...’

            ‘Ah.’

            ‘Yeah.’

            ‘And she meant _soon_ and you did not necessarily mean you.’

            ‘Yeah.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘Yeah.’

            ‘But he asked you?’

            ‘We talked about it and he said that we both needed to think properly about this, but, yes – he asked me.’

            ‘And you said…’

            ‘That I agreed that we needed to give each other some time.’

            ‘Shit.’

            ‘Yeah.’

They sit in silence, surrounded by boxes in his tiny two-bed apartment, and for once Sebastian has no words.  He cannot imagine what he would do, were the situations reversed.

            ‘Bas – what do I do?’

            ‘I have no idea.  When do you need to decide by?’

            ‘The 28th, I guess – she’s invited us to theirs for dinner.’

            ‘That’s in two weeks.’

            ‘Yep.’

            ‘Shit.’

            ‘I really love him, Bas.  He’s been there for me – when things were really bad, but I don’t know if I’m ready for this.  I mean…I thought I was, but I just feel so…guilty.  You know?’

            ‘What have you got to be guilty about?’

            ‘I just…he could do so much better and –‘

            ‘Whoa.  Stop.  No, no, no.  Douglas doesn’t think that so stop that.’

            ‘He’s all I have and I’m…terrified.’

            ‘I know it feels like that, Blaine – but you’re not alone, OK.  You’ve got me.  I’m here too.’

            ‘Thanks, Bas.’

            ‘Right, know what I think you need?’

Blaine shakes his head and Sebastian tries to hide his concern with his brightest smile.

            ‘I’m calling the guys – they’re here for my housewarming tonight anyway and we’re taking you out.’

 

-+-

 

            Santana disappeared hours ago with Dani and left Kurt to babysit Rachel who, is not only completely wasted (he has no idea _how_ because they were clearly stamped as underage, but he strongly suspects Santana had something to do with it), but dancing flirtatiously with three other women after spending the last twenty minutes waxing lyrical about how fun gay bars were.  Kurt keeps an eye on her from his position, standing at one of the tall silver tables, guarding their drinks.  Considering he was only out with them at the girls’ insistence –

            ‘You’re never going to meet anyone new at this rate, Kurt.’

            ‘Come on – blow off some steam, it’ll be fun.  What’s the worst that could happen?  You may actually find a man to bang your hobbit obsession right out of you.’

\- he does not find it hugely amusing that so far neither of his friends has spent much time with him at all.

Happy that Rachel is safe enough where she is for the time being, he casually scans the sea of people.  He had actually thought that this, unlike Rachel’s last attempt to go a little wild, would be a good idea so he had dressed to the nines, and he would be damned if all that effort was going to go to waste.  It was not as if he had not been asked to dance – he had numerous times, but none of them were…right.  He took a sip of his virgin amaretto sour and let himself relax a little to the throb of the music pulsing through his limbs.  He clicks his tongue stud against his teeth in threes as his eyes flit over the crowded bodies and feels colour rush to his cheeks when a ridiculously tall and attractive guy winks at him before heading over.  A small flush of disappointment creeps in when he notices what the other man is wearing – a wide collared shirt?  _Really?  This is not the 70s._

            ‘Hi.’

The other man’s voice is a lot deeper than Kurt had anticipated and does not quite match his face, but Kurt manages to reply without sounding shocked.

            ‘Hi.’

            ‘I’m Neil.’

            ‘Kurt.  Nice to meet you.’

He has to shout to be heard over the music.  He barely hears Neil’s next sentence and is not thrilled when he crowds closer to talk into Kurt’s ear. 

            ‘Dance with me.’

It is not a question and, regardless of how attractive Neil may be, it rankles Kurt.

            ‘No thanks.’

            ‘Come on.’

Kurt rolls his eyes, frustration rapidly building as he shakes his head and turns from the other man, hopefully indicating his disinterest.

            ‘Your loss.’

He finds he can breathe easier once the other man leaves with no hassle and takes another sip of his drink, his mood rapidly deteriorating.  He goes to take another swig then realises he had finished so takes a glance at his wrist watch – he is half way over to Rachel, ready to drag her home, when he _feels_ him.  Kurt spins, eyes wild, scanning faces at a pace even he is impressed by – nothing.  He clicks his stud against his teeth

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

in an attempt to regain control over his emotions.  That was the whole point of coming out tonight, was it not?  He wanted to prove that he was not “hung up” on anyone.

            _Then why can’t you say his name?_

            ‘Blaine!’

The voice is unfamiliar but Kurt has spun to face the direction of the shout before he had had time to fully register it. 

He cannot place it and cannot pick the voice out above the noise of the crowd.

            _One_

_Two_

_Three_

His mind wobbles and he wonders whether he should have accepted those drinks from Santana at all as he refocuses on making his way over to Rachel.

            _One_

_Two_

_Three_

A hand on his arm stops his heart and for a moment he is utterly paralysed because if it is…

It is not though.

The blonde man before him is a little shorter than him but slim, and utterly stunning, and Kurt finds himself fascinated by the green of his eyes because he is not entirely certain he can name the shade.  Kurt’s eyes flicker down pointedly to the place on his arm where the other man’s hand rests, but the blonde seems unperturbed.  Kurt raises an eyebrow.

            _What is it with the guys here?_

            ‘I can’t help but noticed you finished your drink.’

His voice is rich like expertly roasted coffee, with an accent that sets him apart from the regular New York crowd and it makes Kurt curious to know more.  He nods slightly, but instead of more information he finds himself being towed to the bar.  The blonde positively stalks and Kurt takes the opportunity to check the guy out unnoticed.  He is dressed well for the bar in a tailored black shirt with green contrast stitching, and tight leather trousers.  Black Chelsea boots and a green belt finish the look and Kurt can appreciate the balls it takes to wear, and pull off, leather trousers to a nightclub.  His companion leans his arms on the bar, blocking Kurt’s view – but he cannot complain. 

            ‘Amaretto sour, right?’

            ‘Uh…yeah.  Thanks.’  Kurt takes a sip and raises an eyebrow when he can taste the alcohol.  He’s about to say something when the blonde gives him a filthy look and Kurt decides to go with it, hoping his shirt sleeves will hide his underage stamp.

            _One_

_Two_

_Three_

            ‘So, what’s your name?’

            ‘Kurt.’

            ‘You’re not from around here.’

It is a statement, not a question, so Kurt, petulantly refuses to answer.  The blonde moves in closer. 

            ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’

He smells like sandalwood and seawater.

            _One_

_Two_

_Three_

            ‘You here by yourself?’

            ‘No – I’m here with friends.’

            ‘Where are they?’

Kurt shrugs, tensing as he realises that Rachel is no longer where he left her dancing.  An icy finger traces his spine and his heart rate revs.

            _Onetwothree_

_Onetwothree_

_Onetwo-_

            ‘I’m sure they’re fine.’

            ‘I should go look for them – nice to meet you.  Thanks for the drink!’

He has no idea whether the blonde said anything in response as he makes his way back out against the tide.  The music vibrates the floor as he walks, searching.

            _Onetwothreeonetwothreeonetwothreeone_

 

-+-

 

            ‘His eyes are so blue.  But there’s yellow in them too – like a blue sunset.’

            ‘OK, I think you’ve had enough.’  Sebastian attempts to prise the whiskey glass from his friend’s fingers but to no avail.

Blaine, oblivious, gestures with his hand as Sebastian makes a grab and notices the colour.

            ‘My eyes are like whiskey.  Imagine if you could only drink liquids the same colour as your eyes.’

            ‘Then Bas and I’d be screwed.’  Hunter sways a little then raises an eyebrow when a couple of guys gesture for him to come over before shaking his head and shouting ‘I’m not gay!’

            ‘You’ve both got green eyes…’ 

            ‘Yep.  I think the lucky one would be Doug.’

            ‘Chocolate.’

            ‘Yep.’

Sebastian rolls his eyes at his friends’ exchange and keeps an eye out for their missing member before spotting him and waiving him over.  Doug puts down a tray which, to Sebastian’s frustration, contains a round of shots.

            ‘To Bas’ new place and Blaine’s engagement!’  Doug picks up a shot glass and holds it high in a toast.  The bright green liquid catches the light.

            ‘I didn’t say yes!’  Blaine’s protest falls of deaf ears and does not stop him knocking back the absinthe.  He does not even flinch and Sebastian frowns at Doug.

            ‘Absinthe!  Bas and I would get absinthe.’  Hunter looks proud of himself but Blaine looks confused and Doug looks to Sebastian for clarification.  ‘Eye drinks, Blaine!’

            ‘Yes!  I get whiskey, you get absinthe with Bas, and Doug and Douglas get molten chocolate.’  Blaine frowns and mumbles something that sounds a lot like ‘Kurt would have a blue Hawaiian.’

Hunter giggles uncontrollably.

            ‘Like our personalities, right?’  Doug laughs.

Sebastian sighs and looks around for the attractive friend Blaine had brought with them – Charlie was the one who had gotten them into the club without hand stamps after taking one look at Sebastian’s fake ID and laughing.  He had hated him instantly, but the blonde had split pretty quickly after they had gotten in and Sebastian was more than a little annoyed.

            ‘I’m going to dance!’ 

Blaine is gone before he had noticed him start to move and Sebastian groans.

            ‘One of us should stay with him!’

            ‘What?’  Doug looks confused and Sebastian mentally curses himself for thinking that this would be a great idea.  He feels twitchy – like something bad was going to happen.

He steps past Doug and tries to follow Blaine into the swell of dancing bodies.  Doug catches Sebastian’s intention and puts a hand on his chest.

            ‘Chill out.  Enjoy yourself!  I’ll keep an eye on him.’ 

Sebastian nods lightly and heads back to keep an eye on Hunter who, once again, appears to be being propositioned.  The last thing Sebastian wants is for Hunter to start a fight so he heads back over and sweet talks the men into leaving before hopping onto a ridiculously tall barstool beside his friend.  He thinks he catches Doug’s shout of “Blaine!” over the din but he cannot be certain.  His fingers trace the rim of his shot of absinthe idly as he watches.

            _Fuck it._

He downs the shot and Hunter grins.

 

-+-

 

            He had gone to Charlie’s after leaving Sebastian to finish unpacking – predominantly to get another opinion.  Charlie had been unhelpful to say the least so Blaine had dropped the subject and, desperate for something else to talk about, had invited the blonde to join him that evening.  Charlie had spent the rest of the afternoon giving him an impromptu makeover complete with eyeliner and had insisted on doing Blaine’s hair for him with mousse instead of gel.  Blaine had been uncertain about the result but Charlie had been insistent that Blaine looked like a rock star and, by the time Blaine had convinced himself to change again he had had no time because he had realised they were already late to meet the boys.  Self-conscious, he had given Charlie the low-down on each of his friends before they had met at Sebastian’s, but any hint of worry he had had (that had magnified when Hunter and Doug had laughed at him) vanished when every eye in the club had raked him over when he entered. 

The drink had probably helped but he had actually been having a really good time before Sebastian had dragged him back to the table.  He had been unable to stop his feet tapping to the beat of the music and so, as soon as he had seen an opportunity, he had managed to escape back onto the dance floor, ignoring Doug’s call.  He had not realised how much he had _needed_ this – the opportunity to let go and be young and free for an evening. 

He found himself in a crush of bodies – three men were dancing in a tight circle, facing him, and he discovered he really liked their attention.  It made him feel sexy, and powerful.  The dancing got dirty and Blaine felt wired – one of the guys pulled Blaine backwards so that his ass was grinding against the other guy’s crotch.  Blaine had grinned wolfishly and winked at the floppy-fringed guy who had been dancing face-to-face with him, before spinning to face his new dance partner.  The forward guy had his hair gelled into tall spikes and wore rainbow glitter on his collarbones and cheeks – Blaine found he wanted to lick it to see whether it tasted like Skittles, but was pulled in another direction by another guy before he had the chance.  This one was beefy and utterly not Blaine’s type so he threw him a look and tried to turn to find Skittles again.  A hand on his arm stopped his movement and he glared at Beefy.

            ‘Excuse me.’  Blaine tried to pull away but Beefy hung on and for a terrible moment Blaine had a vision of a bottle being smashed against a skull.  He felt sick.  He struggled against Beefy’s grip, eyes a little panicked trying to search out Skittles, or one of his friends for help.  Beefy pulled him around and held him tightly against himself.

            ‘With anyone, pretty boy?’

            ‘Yes.  Let me go!’

            ‘I don’t see anyone.’  Beefy’s breath was stale beer and cigarettes and Blaine struggled to keep down a second wave of nausea.

            ‘He said to let him go.’  The voice could not have been real – it had to be an hallucination brought on by the green fairy.

But Beefy had turned and laughed. 

            ‘Listen close you oversized ham hock - my friend here is with me.  Go and find someone else to maul with your sweaty paws.’

            ‘Or what, fairy?’

            ‘Just go get yourself another gallon of beer.  This one is not worth your trouble.’  Blaine caught a glimpse of chestnut hair as his rescuer slid a twenty into Beefy’s top pocket.  He wished he could see their expressions so he could gauge the situation but suddenly Beefy’s grip on him was gone and he was left stumbling into lean arms.

            ‘Hi, you.’

            ‘Hi, yourself.’

 


	4. Clashing Horns

### Clashing Horns

            ‘May I have this dance?’

Kurt rolls his eyes.

            ‘We’ve not spoken face to face in _months_ and you invite me to dance?  You’re impossible.’

He still finds his hand in Blaine’s.

            ‘I could have handled that, you know.’

            ‘Of course you could.’

The music has faded away to the dull thud of his heartbeat and the shuffle of two pairs of feet in synch on the wooden floor.

            ‘Thank you.’  Blaine’s eyes are painfully earnest and –

_Is that guyliner?!_

            ‘I think it was my turn.’  Blaine’s smile is so bright it dazzles him. 

Kurt licks his lips.

            ‘ _That’s_ new.’

            ‘Hm?’  Blaine’s comment catches Kurt off guard and he frowns slightly.

            ‘Your tongue.’

Blaine’s breath is smoky with alcohol, his lips moist, and Kurt finds himself mesmerised by their utter perfection.

            ‘There’s a lot that’s new.’

Blaine dips his head in agreement or quiet amusement - Kurt has no clue which.  The shorter man’s eyelashes sweep his cheeks as he smiles again, so freely, and Kurt finds himself closer; Blaine’s hand against the small of his back, the other secure in Kurt’s free hand.  Kurt slides a hand around Blaine’s neck.

Blaine hums a fragment of a tune. 

_Puzzle pieces._

The vibrations whisper promises and regrets through Kurt’s palms.

            ‘I missed you, Kurt.’

His breath catches - how can Blaine always do that to him?

            ‘I…I missed you too.’

            ‘I’m sorry about Christm-‘

            ‘Don’t.  OK.  Please?’  Kurt forces himself to breathe out.

He gently rests his head against Blaine’s shoulder.  Blaine’s breath is hot and steady against his neck.  Kurt holds him tightly and for a moment they are back at the McKinley prom together and Kurt is safe, so safe and loved in Blaine’s arms.  He inhales deeply expecting the bitter coffee and sharp-sweet raspberry of _Blaine_ , but he smells different now - bergamot and cedar.  He feels Blaine’s hand at his back tighten and allows Blaine to pull him closer still, hooking his chin over Kurt’s shoulder, and Kurt feels Blaine begin to relax against him.  Kurt closes his eyes tightly, barely remembering to move his feet to the heavy beat.

They are jostled by another couple who are practically dry humping and the interruption switches the sound back on, and with it reality.

            ‘We shouldn’t be doing this, Blaine.’  Kurt pulls back. 

            ‘Dancing?’  Blaine’s confusion is real.  ‘It’s just a dance, Kurt.’

His eyes are dark; circled with smoke and smouldering.  Kurt remembers the last time he saw Blaine under the influence of alcohol – he is always passionate when he has been drinking.  The taller man takes another step back and Blaine frowns – it tugs at something within Kurt.  Seams, hastily pulled together with essential running repairs, begin to unravel with those eyes – those imploring eyes, blown massive with alcohol and the darkness, that scream _I love you_ at Kurt.  Those eyes that could see straight through him when no one else’s could.  Those eyes that promised _forever_ so earnestly that he had been utterly taken in by them. 

It is too much – too much touch and smell and far too soon.  Blaine has always overwhelmed him – his personal poison – and his mind tortures him with fragments of stunningly vivid nightmares that bring bitter bile up to his throat. 

Kurt’s sleep had been plagued with them after Blaine’s admission.  That night Blaine had torn the floor out from under him and all of his certainties, his hopes, his deepest fantasies had fallen deep down into the terrible yawning chasm that had grown within him.

Other hands, other tongues and teeth exploring flesh that had been his alone to touch and taste and smell and bite.  Other fingers, other nails leaving red marks on toned tanned skin.  Other lips making him scream out other names in delicious ecstasy.

Kurt bites his lip.

            ‘What’s he like?’  He does not want to know.  He _needs_ to know – fill in the blanks and make it all disappear.

            ‘Who?’

            ‘Your boyfriend, Blaine.  The man you’re living with.’

            ‘He’s not you.’

            ‘No – you don’t get to say things like that to me.  Not anymore.’

            ‘What do you want me to say, Kurt?’

            ‘Do you love him?’

            ‘Did you love Adam?’

            ‘What has that got to do with _anything_?’

His lungs ache and his body has not caught up with the external situation because the very presence of Blaine is making his nerves itch.  He flicks his tongue stud against his teeth and counts in a vain attempt to quiet his treacherous body.

            _One_

 _Why does it have to be_ him _?_

_Two_

_Why didn’t I feel this with Adam?_

_Three_

_I wanted to!_

_One_

_This should have faded by now._

_Two_

_I hate him for doing this to me._

_Three_

Blaine reaches for him and Kurt finds himself being led out of the club and into the cloying night air.  He closes his eyes and takes a breath and it is fast food and cigarettes and sweat, but it is better than the club where it had just been Blaine. 

            _One_

_It is not better._

_Two_

He keeps his eyes closed and focuses on breathing in and out, but he can still _feel_ Blaine under his skin.

_Three_

_Is there a cure for you?  I can’t keep going like this – living this half-life you left me with.  I tasted forever, Blaine, and I know you did too._

He opens his eyes.  Blaine is lit by the blue and pink neon of the club sign – his tight white shirt flexes as he breathes, the top few buttons unveiling a perfect slither of skin.  Kurt forces himself to catch Blaine’s eyes.

            ‘What’s he like, Blaine?’

            ‘Why?  Why does it matter?’

            ‘Because…’ 

_Because he gets to see you naked.  He gets to fuck you.  He gets to see your crazy bed hair in the mornings and make you coffee.  He gets to explore quirky coffee shops with you and walk hand-in-hand through Central Park.  He is living my life with you and I cannot breathe.  I cannot fucking breathe._

_Onetwothree_

_Because if I knew maybe I could sleep.  Maybe if I could picture him I could get over you._

_Onetwothreeonetwothree_

_Why now?  Why do I bump into you now?_

‘I guess it doesn’t.’  Kurt turns on his heel and is about to stride back into the club when he feels something shift.

‘Talk to me?’  Blaine’s voice is quiet and there is a sadness there that Kurt feels in his gut – ice quenching the fiery despair of his heart like a blanket.

He turns.

            ‘Just – talk to me, Kurt?’

            ‘What is there to talk about?’

            ‘Are you happy?’

Kurt laughs at him and Blaine’s eyebrows draw perfectly straight lines.

            ‘Are you?’

He feels pins prick his eyes and he forces himself to look away – at anything but the man in front of him.

            ‘I’m fantastic, Blaine.  I’m great actually.  I got into NYADA and my work for Isabelle is really taking off…  Santana lives with Rachel and I now – not sure for how long, it just kind of happened, and I broke up with my last boyfriend because for some reason I cannot get rid of you.  Is that what you wanted to know, Blaine?  Does that answer your question?’

            ‘Kurt, I –‘

            ‘Just go.  Just go back to your new boyfriend and your new life, OK?’

            ‘Kurt, please –‘

            ‘Stop saying my name like it is some kind of prayer to you!’

Blaine bites his lip and Kurt slaps a hand against the rough bricks of the wall beside his head.  Traffic surges by down the alley and somewhere an urban vixen screams.  Four men pour out of the club, throwing the door open with a _bang_ that feels louder than the club music had and for a moment they are washed in the glow of party lights and pounded by bass.  One of the men gives a low whistle and Kurt hears a mumbled

            ‘Lover’s quarrel, sweetheart?  Ohhhh – he’s a cutie!’

He glares at them and the four make their way towards the nearby taxi rank with nothing more than a couple of catcalls.

            ‘What are we meant to do, Blaine?’  He is not certain when the first tear slid down his cheek but now that it has, others seem desperate to join it.  He hides his face as best he can but he knows that Blaine will notice.  Blaine always notices.

Kurt lets the other man pull him into his chest.

            ‘I don’t know.’  Blaine’s breath caresses his cheek and he feels rather than hears him.

            ‘I’m so mad at you.’  This is how he imagines Confession would feel.

            ‘I know.’

            ‘I really hate you.’  Lighter somehow.

            ‘I know.’

They breathe each other.

            ‘I want to meet him.’  It is an impulse. 

            ‘Who?’

            ‘Your boyfriend.’

            ‘I’m not sure that’s the best idea, Kurt.’

            ‘Why?’

            ‘Would you have introduced me to Adam?’

            ‘I don’t know.’

Hearts so close he can feel Blaine’s pounding against his own ribcage as if it were a door.  Shelter from the storm.

            _Please let me back in?_

            ‘Congratulations, by the way.’

Blaine’s heartbeat jumps and he feels him tense beneath his fingertips – that was not the reaction Kurt had been expecting.

            ‘What for?’

            ‘Nationals.  Graduation.  Columbia.’          

            ‘Oh.  Thanks.’

            ‘What did you think I meant?’

            ‘Nothing.’

            ‘Blaine?’  He pulls back and catches Blaine’s eye – they seem to glow amber in the reflected light, framed by long sooty lashes shadowy with smudged kohl.

Blaine never could lie to him.

            ‘He asked me to marry him.’

Kurt wishes he had learnt how.

 

-+-

 

            If Blaine knows one thing it is that he is not going to run away this time.  This time he will stand his ground.   

            ‘He asked me to marry him.’

            ‘What did you say?’  Kurt’s eyes go wide and Blaine mentally berates himself for not thinking before speaking.

            ‘I didn’t say anything.’

            ‘Blaine…’

            ‘What, Kurt?  Why does it matter to you anyway?  It’s not like you and I are OK – you said so yourself; it has been _months_.  Things have been hard for you with…with Finn, and your dad, and splitting up with Adam and I wish…I wish I had been able to hold your hand and be your friend, because I love you Kurt, and I always will.  If you had only let me...  But you pushed me away at Christmas, and again at Regionals, and I don’t know where I stand with you.  You went through all that trouble to get my number from the Warblers then you ask me to call and never returned mine.  I tried, Kurt.  I gave you space.  I gave you everything I could…  I know I fucked up, but I…  You don’t get to come back into my life and judge me, Kurt, because I’ve gone through a lot of stuff too and I know you know because Burt knows.’  He is panting with the pain of the truth.  He had thought that saying it would make him feel better but it does not.  If anything the words are tangible now a vivid cancer between them. 

            ‘My brother died, Blaine.  You cannot compare that to walking away from your family because they don’t agree with who you’re fucking.’

            ‘I didn’t walk away!  You still have your dad, Kurt.  Who do I have, hm?’

            ‘You chose _him_.  You chose a man you had known for _months_ over your family.  You chose him over your friends and you chose him over me.’

            ‘You weren’t there!’

            ‘Neither were you!’

            ‘And whose fault was that, Kurt?’

            ‘I don’t have to listen to this.  Have a nice life, Blaine.’

            ‘No – you know what, screw you, Kurt.  Screw you and your _better than everyone_ attitude, because you know what?  I’m done.  I’m done with this and I’m done with you.’

His hands are shaking, he feels like he ran a marathon, but he manages to tare his eyes away from Kurt’s shocked face and he gets into the first cab he finds.  Kurt’s eyes haunt him throughout the drive – swirling blue and gold and wet, his eyelashes clumped, and his face flushed with anger.  He had sworn to himself that he would never be the cause of that pain again.  Not again. 

He does not recall giving the cab driver directions.

He looks out of the window and his vision churns.

 

-+-

 

            The heat of the club from the lights and the mass of soaking, gyrating bodies combined with the ambient summer warmth of the past day which seeps now from stone, concrete, and brick under cover of darkness presses down on him like a giant thumb.  He shouts to Hunter and the other man follows him as he makes his way outside to breathe air that has been through fewer stale lungs. 

The door is heavy but he manages to throw it open – it smacks into the side of the wall and he cringes slightly at the noise.  Someone is blocking his exit however so he has to stop and Hunter almost crashes into the back of him.

            ‘Kurt?’

            ‘Sebastian?’

Sebastian takes in the sight of Kurt, dishevelled and wretched, and his chest aches with the heaviness of dread – but there is no blood.  That is one thing at least.

            ‘God, Kurt – what happened?’

            ‘This is the Kurt Blaine was going on about all night?’  Hunter is incredulous and Sebastian nods, his attention never leaving Kurt’s face.

            ‘He ran off again if that’s what you’re wondering.’  Kurt catches Sebastian’s eyes with his own and Sebastian frowns.

            ‘Do you know where he went?’  Sebastian pulls his phone out and tries to dial Doug’s number.  Kurt shakes his head.

            ‘He got into a cab.’  Kurt raises an eyebrow at Sebastian’s companion but he is not in the mood to give introductions.

Unsurprisingly Doug does not pick up – it had been a long shot. 

            ‘Hunt – can you find Doug?  We need to find Blaine.’ 

Hunter nods his head, sobering with the atmosphere and the fresh air, before heading back into the depths of the club to try to find their missing friend.  Sebastian reaches out to touch Kurt needing to _do_ something, but the other man flinches back from him.  Sebastian’s hand drops back to his side.

            ‘What did he mean?’  Kurt’s voice is steel.

            ‘Who?  Hunter?’ 

The other man nods slightly and Sebastian sighs.

            ‘Blaine was drunk.  He was waxing lyrical about your eyes in front of Doug.’

Kurt purses his lips, his brows knotted.

            ‘What happened, Kurt?  I’m guessing the two of you had a talk…’

            ‘His boyfriend asked him to marry him.’

            ‘Yeah.’

            ‘Does no one else think that is crazy?’

            ‘There’s more to it than just that, Kurt.’

            ‘Well explain it to me then because right now I really don’t know what to think.’

 

-+-

 

            It takes precious seconds and he gets a mixed reaction (cheers and whistles from the patrons, frowns from the bar staff, and angry shouts from the bouncers) but standing on the table helps him spot Doug.  He wades through dancing couples – most part before him and he silently thanks his time at military school for giving him presence.  Attempting to pry Doug away from a tiny woman with dark hair proves more challenging however.

            ‘This is Rachel!’

            ‘That’s great, Doug.’  Hunter rolls his eyes.

            ‘She’s from Lima!  What’re the chances of that?’

            ‘Doug –‘

            ‘She’s straight too!  She’s here for a gay guy friend –‘

            ‘Doug – it’s Blaine.’

            ‘What’s up with Blaine?’

 Something about the name triggers something in the brunette.

            ‘Did you say Blaine?  Blaine Anderson?  Short, vaguely Eurasian looking, dark hair, dreamy eyes, sings?’

Doug nods and the woman laughs.

            ‘He’s my friend’s ex!’

            ‘Well if you’re talking about a guy called Kurt – he’s outside.’  Hunter grabs hold of Doug’s arm and frogmarches him back through the squeeze of bodies towards the exit aware of Rachel following them closely.

            ‘Kurt!’  She barges past Sebastian and tries to pull her friend into a sloppy hug, but is rejected.

  Somehow Kurt looks worse than he did before Hunter had left to find Doug and the arrival of his friend seems to do nothing but agitate him further.

            ‘Rachel – go and find Santana and Dani.  I’m going to meet you back at the loft later.’

            ‘Where’s Blaine?  The pretty boys said that you were with Blaine!’

            ‘Go Rachel.  I’ll tell you about it later, alright?’

Sebastian and Doug seem to be having a quietly intense discussion of the kind one only has when one of the party is extremely drunk and Hunter’s attention snaps in their direction when it becomes apparent that violence is brewing.

The brunette woman storms by with threats of “you better, Kurt!” and “I want details!”, but he ignores her and only just manages to stop Sebastian’s attempt to wrestle Doug’s phone from him.

            ‘What’s going on, Bas?’

            ‘He’s calling Douglas.’


	5. Lost

###  Lost

            He is a hurricane; there is a darkness - a depression that wavers with the uncertain, quivering anticipation of the absent.  While Blaine’s location was unknown Douglas had felt lost with no real direction.  Questions and decisions, numerous and heavy, had thrown themselves relentlessly against the walls of his mind:

Stay where you are and wait _in case_

 – behaviour drilled into him since childhood. 

Join the manhunt and _do_ something

\- a sense of deluded purpose: a task of distraction to feel less useless. 

His keys are in his hand and he is almost out the door when Blaine breezes in.

            ‘Were you heading out?’  The younger man looks confused.

            ‘I…uh…I was about to look for you.’

            ‘Oh.’

Douglas watches Blaine head further into the apartment, running his eyes over him, frantically analysing posture in an attempt to gauge the situation. 

Hurt? – no tears or discernable marks on Blaine’s clothing, no cuts or bruises, nothing _obvious_. 

Drunk? – Blaine’s movements are fluid but a little overcompensated. 

Angry? – there is a tightness to his shoulder and a hardness to his eyes.  His voice is gravel – he has been shouting, but that could just be from trying to communicate in a noisy club. 

Blaine sets about making coffee so Douglas waits, gravitating towards the breakfast bar – he knows without conscious thought that he needs to let Blaine come to him.  He picks up his discarded book and waits.

            ‘Doug call?’

At the sound of Blaine’s voice Douglas looks up and nods in the affirmative.

            ‘He say whether he was coming back here?’

            ‘I think the plan was to stay with your friends tonight.’

            ‘Right…  Yes.  Of course.’

Douglas raises an eyebrow when Blaine says no more, opting instead to finish his coffee before heading in the direction of their bedroom.  Douglas goes back to staring at the pages of his book until he reasons that Blaine must have passed out or something and is half-off the stool and about to make his way across the room when Blaine resurfaces, dressed in sleepwear.  He clears his throat.

            ‘Honey, you may want to take that make-up off.’

            ‘Charlie.’  Blaine says as if that explains everything, before his path diverts back into their bedroom.

Douglas frowns – curiosity with a side of jealousy he fully intends to deny.  This is the calm before the storm Douglas is learning.  He waits – book open before him but unread.

Blaine reappears, his hair damp and curling cherub-esque, his face scrubbed pink and his eyes red rimmed.  He picks up the phone from its cradle beside Douglas and wanders into the lounge.

It takes every ounce of strength Douglas possesses not to follow.

Fragments – leaves of conversations blow back into the kitchen, disintegrating.

            ‘Doug. …  I couldn’t. …  No. …  Sorry – I didn’t mean. …  I’m fine. …  Home. …  Tomorrow.  …  I know, and as I told him – I am not interested. …  Stop! …  I know.  …  What did you say?  …  He can take care of himself – he’s good at that.  …  Goodnight.’

He ensures that it looks like he was reading when he hears Blaine return.  Risking a glance he notes Blaine’s knuckles are white where he clutches the phone too tightly, his posture is rigid, his eyes tired.  Douglas watches as Blaine replaces the phone in its cradle, then stands hovering beside him as if he is waiting for something.

            _Softly, softly, catchee monkey._

 Douglas nudges the stool beside him with his foot – an invitation Blaine accepts - then closes his book and waits, leaving his body language open and inclined slightly towards his partner.

Blaine’s eyes are stormy – there is conflict behind them – a whirring that Douglas aches to be able to ease.  He does not trust his tongue to say the right thing without more information about what happened than his nephew’s slurred “There’s been an argument.  We lost Blaine!” and the man in questions’ present disposition, so he opens an arm instead.  Blaine rests his body against Douglas’ and the older man feels a shift as Blaine breathes out – wind escaping taught sails.  Douglas presses his lips to the soft curls that brush his cheek and is rewarded with a small sigh.  The older man forces himself to be patient and to appear calm, but with each passing _scrape-tick_ the silence grows heavier, more tangible, as waves of breath break against it.  He is a clock spring, winding tighter with each cycle of inevitable inflation and deflation; he feels the tension within his own muscles clawing at him – a caged animal, but he reins it in with measured breaths and idle fingers smoothing ripples from Blaine’s tense shoulders.  Douglas’ insides writhe with every stuttered inhale-pause, but half-spoken words die on bitten lips before they are born.  He keeps breathing with measured precision: _scrape-_ in _tick-_ out.

His reward is the eye of the storm; it is the appearance of peace – a picture postcard with no context, no subtext, and riddled with layered meaning.  Another breath – deeper than the previous few and Douglas finds himself holding his own.

            ‘Nothing happened.’

The older man raises an eyebrow, but says nothing.

            ‘I just…  I wanted to come home.  I’m tired of arguing and of other people _judging_ me…us.  I thought I could escape for _one_ night.’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘Sorry if Doug’s call had you worried.’

            ‘Who were you running from?’

            ‘I wasn’t _running_ anywhere!’  Blaine’s voice is sharp.

            _Whoops!-struck a nerve.  Back pedal!  Easy does it – don’t want to close him down when he’s opening up again._

‘Alright.’  Douglas keeps his voice calm but there is a fine line between patronising and empathising.

            ‘Don’t start.’  The warning edge that creeps into Blaine’s voice flashes neon.

            ‘I’m not starting anything, Blaine.’  He feels the younger man begin to tense up again and he knows he needs to brace for impact if he cannot kill this turn of conversation.  ‘I’m glad you came home.’

He must have said the right thing because Blaine exhales and makes no further move to leave his side.

            ‘Do you want to talk about it?’  Douglas tries to keep their unsteady channel of communication open.

            ‘Nothing to talk about.  Ku-…Someone I once thought of as…a _friend_ decided they don’t like what I’m doing with my life.’

            ‘I’m sorry -’

            ‘Why?  I’m happy – _you_ make me happy.  Don’t be sorry.’  Blaine pulls Douglas towards him for an off-centre kiss which he then desperately tries to deepen, but Douglas withdraws a little.

            ‘You can talk to me you know.’  Douglas frowns.

            ‘I know but I’m _fine_.  Really.’

Douglas raises an eyebrow and Blaine laughs a little – it is forced.

            _Play along and let him think I believe him, then wait until he is ready to talk (and sober)?  Or push further?_

            ‘I’m _fine_!’  There is a pause and Douglas loses himself in swirling pools of burnt amber.  ‘I missed you tonight.’

The change of topic and Blaine’s earlier tetchiness are enough of an indicator for Douglas to give in.

            _For now_.

            ‘I missed you too.’  Douglas concedes.

Blaine smiles at that and presses his lips to Douglas’, but the older man does not miss the unspoken _thank you_ in Blaine’s eyes.

            ‘How much did you miss me?’

            ‘Lots and lots.’

Blaine rolls his eyes playfully and nips at Douglas’ neck before pressing a wet kiss to the teased skin then blowing lightly.  The other man trembles in response.

            ‘Show me.’ 

 

-+-

 

            He wakes in stages and though the sun laps uncertainly at the shores of his mind - each wave inching him closer to consciousness - he makes a valiant attempt to cling to the warm foggy nothingness of his slumber.  Eventually the persistent reminder of _day_ forces its way past clenched eyelids and he rolls onto his back to stretch out, feline.  Bleary-eyed he gropes across the cold side of the bed on a quest for warmth that is absent before squinting at the clock, numbly realising that Douglas would already be most of the way through his work day.  Careful not to move too quickly and mildly surprised by his lack of nausea, he washes and manages to clothe himself (without overbalancing) before heading out with a renewed sense of purpose he somehow distilled from his shower. 

The September sun is welcome on his tanned skin and Blaine finds himself feeling oddly positive as he heads towards the nearest subway station.  He spends most of the hour long journey running through what he wants to say in his head – from what he remembers of the previous evening’s events he had not been entirely in the wrong, but he had been drunk, and he had said things that he probably should not have.  He must have sighed audibly or something because the ginger hipster across from him gives him a strange look and Blaine frowns slightly in response before looking in the opposite direction. 

            _Maybe this was not a great idea._

_What if Kurt’s not interested in talking to me?_

_What if he is?_

His mind melts minutes as it races and he soon finds himself climbing up from the depths of the underground.  Emerging, he is forced to take a moment as his eyes struggle to adjust to the late afternoon sun’s attack on his pupils.

            _Perhaps I am a little hung-over._

Shielding his abused eyes with his hand he makes his way towards Kurt’s loft, secretly praying that the other man will

  1.       Be at home (alone, preferably)
  2.       Want to talk (to Blaine)
  3.        ….



He still is not sure about ‘c’.

-+-

            He does not find Kurt at the loft – instead he almost walks straight past him, but something inside Blaine knows that he could never simply pass Kurt the other man is so deeply ingrained within him.  He had _felt_ him, as odd as that sounded to admit.

Blaine wished he had not.

The apologetic ‘I was an ass – I was a drunk, stupid ass.  Please forgive me.  Let us be friends again, Kurt’ speech he had prepared died on his tongue as he turned tail and headed back the way he had come.

            _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

What he had seen explained a lot really – the tall, handsome, raven-haired man sitting opposite Kurt, and holding his hand had been a physical demonstration.  Blaine rubbed a hand through his hair and pulled slightly.  How had he missed it?  Kurt had practically spelled it out for him.

Kurt’s words echo -

“ _I broke up with my_ last _boyfriend because for some reason I cannot get rid of you._ ”

\- twisting, sinuously around his stomach and Blaine feels like throwing up.  How had he missed it?  _Last_ boyfriend – the implication of a _current_ boyfriend.  Someone to buy him coffee and make him smile (the proper one where he shows his teeth)… 

Blaine had no reason to be…whatever _this_ is (but he knows that it feels a lot like heartbreak and anger), because he is not single either and this new information changes nothing.  He should have left things where they were between Kurt and himself – dying in the street and wasting away into nothingness.  He should have listened better to Kurt.

            “ _I cannot get rid of you._ ”

Well, Blaine could help with that.  He could rid Kurt of himself.

 

-+-

 

            Douglas is there when Blaine finally gets home; the apartment is filled with the delicate aroma of cooking and Blaine’s stomach gurgles in a confused response.  The extractor fan is on and so the younger man announces his presence so as not to startle Douglas, but if the other man heard him, he does not indicate it.  It is not unusual – the fan is loud when you are standing right next to it and they have startled each other before in this way, so Blaine thinks nothing of it as he gravitates towards his partner, finding himself in desperate need of physical reassurance.  He gently slides his arms around his partner’s waist but instead of melting into his touch Douglas pulls away – it is as if he can barely look at Blaine.

He frowns.

            ‘What’s up?’  He keeps his voice soft and immediately tries to work out what could be the matter and how to fix it – did he forget an important date?  Maybe someone died or got hurt?  Did Douglas ask him to pick something up for dinner?  No – he’d have written a note.  Perhaps, Blaine did not see it…

He almost misses Douglas’ response it is so painfully quiet.

            ‘It’s nothing.’

            ‘Come on – something’s bothering you – I can tell.  Is it work?’

Douglas turns off the hob and moves the pan from the heat – practical tasks, but they seem to just give him an excuse not to make eye contact.

            ‘Please, talk to me?’  Blaine tentatively places a hand over one of Douglas’ and the other man closes his eyes for a moment before forcing himself to meet Blaine’s gaze.  ‘Did I do something wrong?’

Douglas’ eyes soften a little at that, but his mouth is pulled into a hard line that makes Blaine’s brain tickle and his heart ache. 

            ‘I called mother – I have to go to China again so we won’t be able to make dinner.’

            ‘Oh.  Alright.  How long for?’  It was not unexpected – things had not been going well and Blaine had been aware that a second trip would be a possibility.  It was actually fortuitous timing because it gave them some more time to work out their game plan before talking to the senior Chambers.  Certainly, this could not the topic that was causing Douglas’ present state.

            ‘A month.’

Blaine nods dumbly.  A month – that’s quite a long time, but they can cope, surely?

            ‘Somehow I feel like you’re not telling me something.’  Blaine braces himself as his words deflate Douglas.  The other man’s face crumples and Blaine’s world shudders with his next breath.

            ‘It’s silly really.  I just… you called me his name.  In bed… and I know it was probably nothing – you probably don’t even remember – and last night was stressful with the argument and everything… I just… Forget it.  I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have brought it up.  It’s just me being silly, and I’m going away and –‘

            ‘Oh, honey, I’m sorry!  I’m so sorry.  I don’t even remember –‘

            ‘I know, I know – I’m just being insecure and ridiculous, but when I came home you weren’t here, and I –‘

            ‘I’m so sorry!  God, baby, I’m so sorry.  Please forgive me.  You have to believe me – it was only you on my mind, I promise.  Only you.  You have to know that, right?  I love you.’

            ‘I love you too.  I’m sorry.  I love you.’

His cheeks are wet and Douglas’ lips taste of salt, but they cling to each other like flotsam, words bubbling between them, and he suddenly _sees_ Douglas – truly sees him beneath the polish and the suits and the penthouse… Douglas needs him as much as he needs Douglas.  In that moment everything is certain.  In that moment he _knows_ he can do something to remove all the uncertainty.  He can do something.  He takes a breath to save them both.  He takes a breath to seal it.     

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so very sorry for the delay in posting this - life got in the way, as always. Thank you all for your concern and your lovely words of encouragement. This is for all of you, always. x-X-x


	6. The Bottom and Below

###  The Bottom and Below

            ‘Look, Kurt – it seems to me that you need to talk to him –‘ The dark haired man raises a hand anticipating Kurt’s inevitable rebuttal, smiling slightly before continuing. ‘Talk to him. Sober. From what you’ve said it is obvious that you still care about him.’ Elliot takes the younger man’s hand in his own and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

Kurt rolls his eyes.

            ‘What if I _do_ talk to him and he’s actually insistent that he’s happy and that he’s going to _marry_ that man? I mean – he’s Doug’s _uncle_! Blaine has had precisely one previous relationship, not counting the time when he cheated on me obviously! There is no way that he should be making that kind of commitment.’

            ‘That’s not for you to decide, Kurt.’

            ‘I know – I just…’ Kurt looks down and runs his slim fingers through his hair.

            ‘You still care. I get it.’ Elliot gives Kurt a sympathetic smile before finishing his drink and standing up. The slighter man raises an eyebrow at his friend’s sudden burst of energy and Elliot grins. ‘Come on!’

            ‘Where are we going?’

            ‘Finish your coffee – you are going to lend me your impeccable fashion taste to help me decide on which of two designs I am going to go for for Starchild’s latest frock coat and then we are going fabric shopping.’

Kurt toys with the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup making no move to join his friend. The other man frowns slightly before slowly returning to his seat and raising an eyebrow.

            ‘Call him, Kurt.’

            ‘I can’t.’

            ‘I thought Blaine’s friend gave you his number?’

            ‘Sebastian? Yeah… he did.’

            ‘Call him.’

            ‘And say what exactly? “Hi, Blaine – it’s me, your ex (you know - the man you said you loved more than anything then cheated on?). Well, I wanted to talk because I’m worried about how you seem to be sabotaging your own life and I think you should stop.” Yeah – that would go down brilliantly.’ He rolls his eyes and glares when Elliot laughs. ‘I’m not joking. I really don’t know what I’d even say to him – which is ridiculous because I have _never_ not known what to say to him.’

            ‘Leave out the first part and just talk about that last bit, or – better yet – ask him to meet for coffee or something and talk face-to-face. You owe it to yourself, Kurt, because you desperately need closure on this.’

            ‘I just…’

            ‘You still love him?’

            ‘I don’t know.’

            ‘Come on, Kurt. I get that you’re pissed at him, but you really need to work out your motives here. It’s fine not to know what you want from him but you need to know one hundred percent why you think he should not be with this Douglas guy. Whether it is because he’s your ex and you are jealous, or because he’s still your friend, or whether it is because you still love him... There’s no right or wrong here.’

Kurt frowns.

            ‘You know what the terrifying thing is, Elliot? That man in the club – I hardly know him. I hardly know him and yet when he held me…’

            ‘It’s like all the lights around you go out and you cannot see anyone but them - it is only them holding you that keeps you from falling or floating away.’

Kurt nods slightly, and Elliot pulls his lips together in a tight smile.

            ‘Kurt – you have to tell him.’

            ‘I know. It’s just…what if he’s happy now? What if he’s in love? What if it’s too late for us?’

            ‘Only one way you’re going to know.’

 

-+-

 

            It arrived soon after Douglas had left – a Steinway Grand; hand built and shining gloss black. The inside of the lid, music desk, fall board, and top stick are bright red - he knows because it had been left open for display when he had arrived home after his first full day at college – gaping wounds; stark slashes against the black body as if someone had carved out its heart.

A red rose had been left on the music desk together with a note in Douglas’ own clear script:

            _Blaine,_

_So sorry I can’t be with you to ask you how your first day went in person. I miss you, darling, and I deeply regret arguing with you before I left. I hope this gift helps your brilliant smile to return… Please know that I love you and, even though I can’t hear you from here – please play for me like you did back at the Summer Palace? Somehow I find the thought of you playing comforting – it makes me feel a little less ~~homesick~~ (or rather) Blaine-sick. Because that’s what I am without you. I don’t think I show you enough what you mean to me, darling. I never used to get homesick before you._

_I need to stay out here for a while longer – I’ll explain later. I wish you were able to be here with me… perhaps next time the timing will be better._

_Speak later – I hope you like your gift._

_Always yours,_

_Douglas_

The note was trapped now between rose petals and the black-white-red of ivories and lid – it had been left where it lay when he had shut it up; closing the wounds away with everything else.

He cannot stand to look at it - it takes up a good portion of what had been his bedroom before he had moved in officially. Douglas had seemingly planned to have decorators turn it into a music room for him while he was out, and Blaine feels terrible that his first gratitude was that at least this way he can shut the door on it – but it is _there_ regardless of which room he occupies. An all too real reminder of the magnitude of what is happening, where he is and the choices he has made; starkly _real_ and strikingly beautiful.

He knows, should he play it, that it will be the best instrument he has ever, and likely will ever, play. But he cannot bring himself to touch it. He feels unworthy. He feels it judging him through the walls and it makes his skin crawl.

College is not what he thought it would be – there are too many new faces, too many egos – all bright and fierce and eager – they _want_ success; they _breathe_ it. The truth is – Blaine does not - he never has. It was never _his_ dream to be a lawyer, and every lecture, every piece of coursework, every textbook feels like another nail in the proverbial coffin that he built entirely for himself. Even having a friend in most of his classes is no real comfort because all Sebastian does is ask if he is alright – and he is not, and there is nothing anyone can do to help him because even he cannot really _explain_ what is wrong. He feels like he is drowning - out of his depth at college, and he feels like he is marooned in the massive penthouse at night.

He spent a couple of days sleeping in the guest apartment – he cannot bring himself to call it ‘his’ because, though he owns it legally, it does not feel like his. Eventually he gave up, curling back up in the cold sheets of the bed he and Douglas had shared, the bitter taste of guilt and unworthiness in his mouth and in his skin.

On the phone he lies – he feels bad enough without making his partner feel terrible that Blaine is alone and miserable. He tells Douglas a story about a young man who makes lots of friends at college and excels academically.  

He considers joining clubs in an attempt to pull himself out of his funk auditioning for one of the a cappella groups, _Kingsmen_ , and even considers (briefly) joining a Rush for a fraternity such as _Delta Sigma Phi_ , but he only succeeds in further proving to himself how much he really does not belong. Adrift in a sea of faces all as beautiful, as young, and just as (if not _more_ ) talented as him.

He almost floats away when he finds out that he was successful in auditioning to join the _Kingsmen_ , but the feeling is short lived as, though he auditions, he does not win any solos and the longer he spends with the group the more he feels as if he is damaged goods and unworthy – a chipped tea cup in a regal dinner service. They are on a whole new level to anything he had anticipated and he feels left behind and unable to catch up.

By the end of the first month he feels physically sick whenever he sees an Arts student.

As the end of the second month nears he spends more and more of his time beating his frustration out of punching bags, literally pounding out the minutes until Douglas returns as if his partner’s return would magic everything better again. He ignores the voice in the back of his mind that whispers that he cannot hide his failures from his partner.

The chip becomes a crack when Douglas calls, sounding tired and stressed, to apologise – he is needed in China still (something to do with the client being bought out by another company and major changes being made to the original plans) and will remain there for at least another month.

Two weeks later and Blaine has lost his job at _Bar Henry Bistro_ , lost Sebastian as a friend, and quit the _Kingsmen_. At the penthouse the piano remains closed and untouched, and Blaine cannot stand the sight of it – the symbol of everything he once wanted.

Which is how Blaine comes to find himself staying at Charlie’s.

 

-+-

           

            ‘Kurt, I love you, okay, but this has got to stop.’

He had known something was up from the way that Rachel had been lying-in-wait for him on the sofa – bolt upright like a mantis. Kurt rolls his eyes as he puts down his bag and unwinds the pale blue scarf from around his neck.

            ‘I mean it – this is an intervention! Take a seat.’

            ‘Better do as the hobbit says, Hummel.’ Santana comments as she saunters over from the kitchen, and by the way she actually takes a seat next to the other woman Kurt knows that he is outnumbered.

            ‘What’s this about?’ He sighs and folds himself into a chair carefully guarding his expression.

            ‘We’re just worried about you, Kurt. Call that number every night but no one ever answers and it is not healthy -’

            ‘What the Sunkist dwarf is trying to say is that she went all stalker and sniffed out Fievel with that massive nose of hers –‘ Kurt watches in perplexed amusement as Rachel glares at Santana’s interruption. ‘- Turns out that Blanderson’s gone AWOL.’

            ‘Wait – what?’ His heart somehow is beating in his tongue.

            ‘Sebastian said they had this big fight…’ Rachel looks uncomfortable and even Santana looks grim. Kurt swallows to find his mouth is dry.

            ‘Well – that’s no big surprise. I mean, it’s not like they haven’t fallen out before.’ He tries to make light of the news, but Santana raises an eyebrow and his mouth snaps shut.

            ‘Relax, Hummel. She weaselled the address out of ferret-boy.’

            ‘Santana! We agreed –‘ Rachel’s voice raises an octave.

            ‘-Yeah, well it’s not up to us, Berry. Give it to him.’

The shorter brunette produces a small scrap of paper and Kurt’s eyebrows end up in his hairline when he reads the address.

            ‘Yeah. No wonder he’s with the old guy.’ Santana stands and heads over to the fridge. ‘Want company?’

            ‘What are you talking about, Santana? Kurt’s got company – he’s with us!’

            ‘Don’t be dense, Berry. He’s about to run out the door right this second.’ The Latina turns slightly to watch as Kurt proves her correct – winding his scarf back around his neck. ‘Look, Kurt – be careful, okay?’

            ‘Did Sebastian say why they fell out?’ Kurt locks eyes with Rachel as he picks up his bag.

            ‘No – only that Blaine wouldn’t listen to reason.’

            ‘Nothing new there.’

Kurt ignores Santana’s jibe and sends Rachel a silent ‘thank you’ before heading back out into the cooling early evening air.

           

 


	7. Distractions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of Finn's death and recreational drug use in this chapter!

###  Distractions

            ‘You can’t just lay there, Anders.  As cute as your ass is in those tight trousers of yours – you need to get up.’ 

            ‘Why?’  Blaine’s voice is muffled by the leather of the sofa and he swears he can hear Charlie chuckle.

            ‘We have visitors.’

Blaine groans – he really does not feel up to seeing anyone, but at the sound of other footsteps, he resentfully pushes himself up into a seated position.  He scowls like a petulant child at his friend and Charlie simply laughs at him.  Blaine frowns.

            ‘Blaine Anderson may I formally introduce the one and only Miss D’Rection known to her friends as Miss D. and my dear friend Felix Gaade.’ 

Blaine takes in the newcomers slipping too easily into _host mode_.

            ‘Anders, your manners are showing.’  Charlie jokes as Blaine shakes Felix’s hand. 

            ‘One of us has to be a gentleman, Charlie.’  Blaine returns.

Miss D. raises an eyebrow when Blaine kisses her hand.

            ‘Oooooh, isn’t he adorable.  Such a sweetie.  You never said he was so darling!  Where have you been hiding him, Charles?’  Miss D. sweeps her eyes over the young man before her and gestures for him to spin for her.  Blaine complies and Miss D. smiles.  ‘Yes.  He’s perfect.’

            ‘Perfect for what?’  Blaine queries, but receives no response but a bark of a laugh from Felix.

            ‘Tonight, Mr. Anderson.  Perfect for tonight.’  Felix’s voice is deeper than his face would suggest – his accent is a strange mix of French creole and Jamaican and is at once surprising and completely perfect for him.  He reminds Blaine of Baron Samedi.  ‘You see, Charlie-Boy here called us because he said you were feeling a little lost and lonely so Mommy and I decided to come and help immerse you in _the life_.’

Miss D. drapes an arm around Blaine’s shoulders and turns him to inspect him again.  Felix grins flashing perfect white teeth.

            ‘The life?’  Blaine feels like a parrot.

            ‘We have to do something about this.’  Miss D. says to Charlie as if Blaine were nothing more than a doll.

            ‘I know, I know.  He scrubs up well though.’  Charlie replies and Felix raises an eyebrow.

            ‘You were right to call us.  Come one now, honey.  Let Momma D. see what we can do, hm?’  She marches Blaine into Charlie’s room and immediately begins rifling through Charlie’s wardrobe.  Blaine crosses his arms across his chest self-consciously, feeling embarrassed, frustrated and unnerved as the drag queen picks out an outfit for him before leaving him to change.  His head is spinning and, honestly, he feels a little cross – he had expressly told Charlie he just wanted to hangout.  Apparently he had not been clear enough about the reasons behind his current urge to shun all of humanity.  In retrospect, perhaps Benedict Charles was the last person on earth he should have turned to in his self-loathing state, but he had no one else.

He dresses in the tight black jeans and blood-red linen shirt Miss D. had selected, fumbling a little with the studded black and silver belt as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror – black and red like the Steinway he has never played.  Blaine quickly cuts the thought off before he falls back down into that personal pit of inadequacy and forces himself to re-join Charlie and his friends.  He takes a moment to appreciate Miss D.’s make-up – it was only her name that had really told Blaine that she was a drag queen – and he idly wonders whether Charlie will make her attack him with an eyeliner pencil as he seems keen on the look, at least on Blaine anyway.  He makes a note to ask Charlie what Miss D.’s boy-name is at some point – not that he would be able to recognise her out of drag anyway.

Blaine finds himself twirled physically as Miss D. appraises him and he seemingly passes whatever inspection she was giving him as she smiles then links arms with both him and Charlie, leading them out into the New York evening as Felix holds the door for them.

 

-+-

 

            They had dinner at _Lips_ on East 56 th – the evening’s headliners had been Willam Belli, Detox Icunt, and Vicky Vox (names Blaine _knows_ from hours of watching _RuPaul’s Drag Race_ and their WDV music videos on _Youtube_ )– and had ended up somehow on West 22nd at a club called _BPM_. 

The club is _packed_ and Blaine endeavours to “relax” and “let go a little” as his companions keep telling him to.  He tries not to think about blue eyes, or black and red pianos, or whispered promises…  He pushes his previous club experiences out of his mind together with all of the worries and fears stacked upon him like bricks – college, Sebastian, his family, Douglas, engagements, Kurt – each the size of a planet. 

‘Drink this.’  Charlie offers him another shot glass and Blaine shrugs a little before downing the burning liquid. 

The alcohol helps and Blaine tries to be _there_ in the moment with Charlie and his new-found friends.  Friends who were presently surrounding him like a pack of wolves. 

Felix’s dark skin is offset perfectly against his deep-purple silk shirt; he positively _glows_ under the lights of the club.  Somehow Blaine had found himself in a dancing-sandwich between Felix, whom he was facing, and Miss D. - who alternated between dancing behind him and dancing back-to-back (well technically, ass-to-ass, would be more accurate) with him.  Charlie had danced with the trio for a while but at some point had disappeared and Blaine had no clue where the other man had gone until he returned with a wicked smile on his face and something in his hand. 

            ‘Oooooh, let’s be wicked.’  Miss D. half-shouts half-breathes into Blaine’s ear as her hands slip around his waist.

Blaine’s skin is thrumming from the music and alcohol coursing through his veins and it takes him longer than it should to realise what Charlie is offering to him – in fact he only twigs as he watches first Felix then Charlie take hits.  _Poppers_.  His mind whirrs as he feels Miss D. slide beside him, feeling rather than seeing her inhale sharply from the tiny bottle held by Charlie before it is held out before him.  He shakes his head and Felix raises an eyebrow.

            ‘He really is a baby-gay, Charlie.  Think you’re wasting your time with this one.’

Blaine glares and Felix’s laugh bowls into him – it is only Miss D.’s calming touch on his back that prevents Blaine from squaring up to the much, much taller man.

            ‘All they do is give you a little buzz, honey.  They’re not like coke or anything.  Nothing to be scared of.’  She’s slipped behind him again.

            ‘Not scared.’  He huffs, turning slightly to ensure she can hear him.  She runs her fingers down over his defined biceps making him shudder involuntarily.

            ‘I know, baby.  I know.  It’ll make you feel relaxed, and you’re so tense.’  Her hands are magic on his shoulders; deftly massaging the top of layers of rigid muscle, as she purrs into his ear.

Charlie offers him the little bottle again, but it is Felix whose eyes he catches – the dark orbs are black in the strobe lights and Blaine _swears_ they are _twinkling_ with laughter.  The alcohol in his veins flushes his skin and he stumbles when a muscle-bound god of a man in a white tank top that is at least one size too small pushes by their small group.  The bottle is so small and insignificant looking and Felix’s grin is all tombstone-teeth; mocking. 

His mind is racing, but he can honestly not think of a person he would upset if he let go and tried it – he has disappointed his family, Kurt, the Warblers, Sebastian, and Douglas – all the people that matter to him already.  He’s a fuck-up – might as well act like one.  What has he got to lose? 

His mind pulses with the light.  He watches as Felix takes another sniff.

Blaine had been around drugs before – some of the Warblers had tried to convince him to try pot but he had been the alpha then – the leader; nothing to prove and above peer pressure.  What was he now?  What had happened to that Blaine?  Strong, confident, mentor Blaine who had known with all his heart and soul that he loved Kurt Hummel and had been born for two things: to love that man and to perform on stage?  When did it all go so terribly wrong?

He felt like the lead in his own personal nightmare.

At Dalton they had had classes on drugs – a local police officer had come to talk to them about substance abuse and had talked about having to break the news to families of kids who had overdosed.  Blaine recalled that a light-haired boy had burst into tears when the officer had explained that the chemicals in magic mushrooms stayed dormant in the base of your brain and would trigger randomly at some point in the future –

_‘You could be driving the kids to school one minute and away on a high the next.’_

Blaine had frowned at his classmate’s reaction – it shocked him he could not recall the other boy’s name…  He had known everyone’s names.  He had made a point of it.

            _Big fish, small pond_.

He racks his brain for information on side-effects of poppers as Charlie takes a second hit.  Miss D.’s long fingers stroke his biceps again and Blaine stumbles over his own thoughts as his body reacts.  He feels her breath against his neck as the little bottle ends up in his hand. 

            ‘Go on, honey.  It’ll make you feel so much looser.  Momma D’ll look after you – you’re with family, baby.  You’re with family.’

 

-+-

 

            Santana’s whistle did nothing to slow the creeping panic in Kurt’s spine.  He re-read the address on the scrap of paper once more before Santana swiped it from his fingers.

            ‘Remind me again why you’re here.’  He glowered.

            ‘Because it was me or Berry, and you really don’t want her brand of crazy with you right now.  Also – have you met me?  There was no way I was passing up an opportunity to scope out this place!  This is the Upper East Side!  Right there – that’s Central Park.  I didn’t believe it but you gotta admit – this explains a lot.’

            ‘Blaine’s not like that ‘Tana.’

            ‘Oh, really?  ‘Cause it certainly looks like he might be to me, Kurt.  Think about it okay.  The boy was born for this lifestyle.  He’s a privately educated polished pocket person and there is no way in hell he was brought up thinking he’d ever live in Bushwick.’

            ‘He’s not like that.’

            ‘You’re telling me that _this_ isn’t the kind of life his parents thought about when they sent him to that pretentious clone school?  That they didn’t see Ivy League schools and prestigious jobs when they paid for that tuition?  Come on, Kurt.’

            ‘Yeah, well – that’s not who Blaine is.’

            ‘Who is Blaine, Kurt?  Because I sure as hell don’t know.  I thought he was this tiny puppy dog – disgustingly cute but loyal, you know, then he cheats on you, then on the New Directions, and now…’  She gestures to their surroundings and Kurt feels his shoulders tense.  He gives his companion a look that he hopes translates that he does not want to talk about it and heads towards the massive doors of the building. 

Santana only hesitates for a moment before following, and though Kurt cannot see her he can _feel_ her roll her eyes at him.

The doorman holds the door for them and Kurt is marginally surprised that he does not detect any judgement from the older gentleman.

            _They really are well trained…_

He walks up to the desk, his leather soled shoes sliding a little on the marble, towards one of the forest green felted and brass studded men he hopes may be manning the Reception.  The desk is slightly curved, marble like the floor, and inlayed with brass lily pads.  The effect is as if the whole piece has been carved from a frozen pond during a sunset – beautiful, but Kurt feels uncomfortable and does not know whether to lean on it or to stand back and use it as a shield.  Fortunately the man behind the desk smiles at him.

            ‘Good evening, sir.  How may I help you this evening?’

            ‘Uh.  Thank you,-‘  Kurt glances at the man’s name tag.  ‘-Markus.  I am looking for a Mr. Anderson – Blaine Anderson?  I believe he lives here?’

            ‘Mr. Anderson is not at home at present.  May I take a message for him?’

            ‘Oh.  Um…that’s okay.  Do you know where he is?  Or, have a contact number or anything?  It’s…it’s really important that I talk to him…tonight.’

            ‘I’m sorry, Mr…’

            ‘Hummel.’

            ‘Mr. Hummel.  I don’t have a contact number for Mr. Anderson, and Mr. Chambers is away on business presently…’  Markus glances down behind the desk at what Kurt guesses must be an inlaid monitor.

            ‘Do you know when Mr. Anderson will be back?’  Kurt cringes a little at the formality.

            ‘I’m sorry –‘

            ‘Hi, Markus.  I’m Santana,’ the dark haired woman interrupts, gently pushing Kurt aside.  ‘Kurt here’s Blaine’s best friend – in fact, he’s more of a brother really - and we desperately need to get a hold of him tonight – right now actually.  You see, his mother’s really sick and it’s not looking good…’ 

Kurt watches, incredulously, as his friend leans over the desk, displaying her cleavage and twirling a lock of her long hair around her finger.  She looks like something from a terrible porn movie, or one of those abysmal spoof-comedies that were popular a couple of years back, and Kurt feels second-hand embarrassment for Markus.

            ‘I had no idea.  I’m truly sorry to hear about Mrs. Anderson.  I really don’t have any information for you though.  I can certainly give Mr. Anderson a message for you –‘

            ‘He didn’t mention where he was going when he left earlier?’

            ‘I wish I could help you – I really do.’

Kurt rolls his eyes as Santana thanks him profusely and then takes his arm as they head back out into the brisk evening.

            ‘Well that was a waste of time.’

            ‘I’ll try again tomorrow, I guess.’  Kurt feels deflated – he had been running on nervous energy since he had received the address, and now…now he feels…well, lost. 

_If he’s not friends with Sebastian any more, and Douglas is not in the country where would he go?_

            ‘I can’t believe he wouldn’t help us!  I gave him the full treatment!  I bet they’re all gay.’

            ‘Yes – that _must_ be it.  Blaine lives in the Gaylord Arms where they only hire gay doormen so that they cannot be swayed into giving away personal and sensitive information about the gay private lives of their rich, gay occupants.’  Kurt gives Santana what he knows is his bitchiest face, but his friend is seemingly immune.

            ‘You should have tried to flirt with him.’

Kurt raises an eyebrow and Santana laughs.

            ‘Come on, Lady Hummel.  Let’s head back – it’s freezing and being out here is making you look like a jack o’lantern.’

            ‘Gee, thanks.’  He huffs his annoyance but takes her proffered arm as they head towards the nearest subway station when the realisation smacks him across the face.  ‘Shit – we should have told Markus not to tell Blaine that stuff you made up about his mother!  What if he flips?!  What if he thinks it was true?’ 

Santana rolls her eyes and holds his elbow firmly, stopping him from turning and rushing straight back to the building.

            ‘Relax, Lady.  He didn’t buy our story for a minute.’

            ‘ _Your_ story and how do you know?’

            ‘Because he is immune to the girls.’

            ‘Just because he was not distracted enough by your cleavage to give us a number or a lead on a location does not mean he thought we were lying!’

            ‘Anyway – it’s not like Blaine’s actually _talking_ to his parents at the moment anyway.’

            ‘That’s not the point!’

            ‘Calm down.  You’re going to pop something.  It’ll be fine, Kurt – worst case he rings his parents and they actually talk.  Alright?  Come on – let’s get back to the loft and I’ll pour you something to relax you, okay?  Auntie ‘Tana’ll look after you.’

            ‘Why does that scare me?’

Santana’s laugh is genuine and Kurt marvels at how he came to be living with the woman – a couple of years ago he never would have imagined this turn of events.  Placated he follows her onto the platform and they wait in relatively amicable silence for the train. 

            _One.  Two.  Three._

Time passes with each flick of his tongue stud against his teeth, and with it his thoughts.  If Santana notices she says nothing.  In fact, Kurt barely notices now – the tick has become a part of him, like his tattoo and his clothes – an external display of his internal self. 

            _One.  Two.  Three._

            _Where are you, Blaine?_

_One.  Two.  Three._

            ‘Kurt?’

            ‘Hm?’

            ‘What’s this all about?  I mean – like what’s your aim here because as I see it nothing good can come of this mess.’

He turns to face her, expecting…he is not sure what he was expecting but genuine concern was not it.  Kurt stumbles for words and Santana’s eyes soften.

            ‘You love him.’

It is not a question and his previous conversation with Elliot pops up behind his eyes like an unwanted spam window.

            ‘It’s not about me.’

            ‘Bullshit, Hummel.  You and Berry – it’s _always_ about you.  It’s not a bad thing, necessarily, but it _is_ about you.’

He frowns slightly – Santana has always been able to knock him off-guard when she is in one of these insightful moods.  There is a warmth to her – a fierce loyalty – that she reserves for a very select few.  Kurt is not sure when he earned it, but he is so glad he has it.

            ‘So, spill.  Is it because he’s in a relationship?’

            ‘I don’t know.’  He shakes his head, because, though he will never admit it out loud – Blaine did hurt him, he hurt him beyond words, but Kurt still loved him.  He loves him with his entire being, and deep down, he had believed Blaine’s apologies - he had believed Blaine’s confessions of love and sorrow, puzzle pieces and soul mates.  Hell, he had believed so deeply in that forever that he had _known_ in his bones that they would eventually be together.  They were supposed to be each other’s firsts, lasts and always, and now Blaine was going to marry another man. 

            ‘Hey, Kurt.  Hey, it’s okay.’  Santana’s embrace surprises him – he had not realised he was crying.  She rubs his back and he feels the bone-deep ache ease a little with the contact.  He clings to her awkwardly as she soothes him.

            ‘I just.  I don’t understand.  You don’t stop loving someone overnight.  You don’t just stop loving someone!’

            ‘I know.’

            ‘You still love Brittany and Rachel still loves F…Finn.  Rachel will always love him, but he’s _gone_ – and Brittany’s at M.I.T., and Blaine’s getting m…married.  He’s getting _married_ to someone who isn’t me and, god, it hurts so badly.’

            ‘You need to tell him, Kurt.  You need to tell him.’

Her hands stroke his back and he tries to take deep breaths to calm himself down.  His vision is blurred through his wet eyelashes and he notices too late that they missed their train.  For some reason he cannot find it in himself to care.

            ‘Thank you.’  He whispers it into her hair.  ‘Thank you for being my friend.’

            ‘Tell Berry we had a moment and I’ll gut you in your sleep, okay?’ 

            ‘Your secret heart is safe with me.’  He feels her smile against his damp cheek.  ‘We missed our train.’

            ‘I know.’

They are shaking with laughter and it is euphoric. 

            _Catharsis._

The word falls out from somewhere and makes him start giggling all over again.

Many uppity looks from the locals of the Upper East Side later and finally their breathing has calmed enough that they stop setting each other off.  Kurt feels as if he is floating somewhere along the disgusting ceiling of the subway – his lungs feel like he has survived a drowning, and he knows without needing a mirror that his eyes will be red, puffy and bloodshot, but he cannot find it within himself to care.

They board the next train and sit beside each other in comfortable silence.  They make their connections lost in their own thoughts, and it is only as they exit the subway that Santana releases his hand again.

           

 

 


	8. Crossroads

### Crossroads

            Eight days.  It had been eight days since he had heard from Blaine. 

Douglas gently lets the phone rest back in its plastic cradle before glancing at his watch. 

_Good – there’s time._

His suitcases are already downstairs waiting for him, but it is part habit, part paranoia that makes him check every drawer, under the bed, and around the bathroom before he lets the door _click_ closed behind him. 

Douglas had barely noted his employer’s reaction to the news that he was heading back to New York because of _family_ _reasons_ , but quite frankly, Douglas did not care – he had other things on his mind. 

The first time Blaine had missed his call Douglas had shrugged it off – perhaps the younger man was out late at a party or one of the _Kingsmen_ rehearsals?  The second time he had tried to ignore the sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach.  As the days had passed, with no word, he had managed to remain calm by convincing himself that he was simply overreacting – Douglas had scoured whatever little information he could get (from US news sites that were not blocked) for news articles that could explain Blaine’s disappearance.  There were none and he had no idea whether what he felt was relief or a deeper kind of worry at this revelation, and Douglas had to literally sit on his own hands to stop himself from calling Columbia _just to check_.

            _You’re not his father – you cannot call his school.  He’s a grown man; an adult!  He can look after himself.  It’s probably nothing.  He probably has a deadline for college and he’s gotten carried away.  He’s not obligated to talk to you – you’re being too needy.  Give him some space – he’ll call when he’s ready and able._

His new litany had not stopped him from calling each morning (China time), nor had it saved him from the inevitable familiar crackle on the echoing line as it rang.

Douglas had wracked his brains in an attempt to see if he had missed something from their conversations – but Blaine had seemed _happy_ – yes, he had said he was missing Douglas, but Blaine had never given Douglas any indication that he had not understood the reason the older man had been delayed in China.  Blaine had given him no indication that something was wrong – the thought should have been reassuring.   

Each time Douglas replaced the phone in its cradle he found himself a little more distracted, a little tenser, a little closer to breaking, until finally, that morning (China-time) he had called his building’s reception to be told that no one had seen Blaine for days.  Genuinely in panic-mode he had called Doug and then Sebastian – what he learnt had Douglas booking his flight home as soon as he had rung-off.

 

-+-

 

            ‘I know he’s there, Rachel.’  He leans a little too heavily on the door frame – Kurt can see a slither of crimson silk from where he stands, frozen, next to Santana.  The loft-mates had been part-way through a film – some chick flick with an unremarkable plot that Rachel had put on after she had satisfied herself that they had told her _everything_ about their unsuccessful excursion – when someone had knocked on their door.  The petite brunette had answered it, leaving Kurt curled up under the blanket next to Santana; at least, that was where he had been until he had heard _him_.  At the sound of his voice Kurt had found himself on his feet and most of the way to the door before Santana had moved in front of him and placed a hand firmly on his chest. 

            'I don’t think now is the right time, Blaine.’  Rachel’s voice sounds firm, but Kurt can detect a slight waiver to it that makes his mouth go dry.

            ‘I really don’t think you get to decide that.’  Blaine’s voice is liquid silk.

            ‘Oh, I think I do.’  Kurt watches as the woman tries to close the door – he can only see a fraction of what is going on from his location but when he goes to move he receives another look from Santana.

            ‘You know what – I think I’ve been really patient with your interfering up until now.  I get it – you’re his _friend_ – I do.  But what you may have missed, while you were so busy being his _friend_ , was that Kurt is not _your_ property and he can make his own decisions without you.  He doesn’t need you to protect him, Rachel – certainly not from me.  He needed you _years_ ago when he was being bullied on a daily basis, but you did nothing then.  As hard as this may be for you to wrap your head around – this is not about you.  So, if you would be so kind as to let him know I’m here…‘  There is a dark calmness to Blaine’s voice – the soothing tones juxtaposing with the context as the other man lets his last sentence hang with unspoken implications.

            ‘I’m not going to take that personally as I know that _you_ would _never_ speak to me like that, so I’m just going to tell you again - he doesn’t want to talk to you when you’re like _this_.  Please, Blaine – come back tomorrow when you’re sober or something.  You’ll thank me – I promise, but just _go_.’ 

Blaine’s comeback is a little too quiet to hear.

            ‘What do you want to do, Kurt?’  Santana’s voice is soft – the concern in her eyes palpable. 

He swallows.  A couple of hours ago he had been steeling himself to talk to the man at the door – a couple of hours ago he had known exactly what he was going to say, but now… 

            ‘Could you…?’  He cannot finish the sentence, but thankfully Santana understands and heads towards the door.  Kurt watches as she picks up two coats from the hook by the exit and takes the other woman by the elbow before leading a protesting Rachel out of the loft.

            ‘You have one hour and then we’ll be back.  If you hurt him…’  The threat is left hanging palpably in the ether between them, and Kurt almost calls his friends back.  Instead, he listens as two pairs of heels clatter down the hallway; his pulse in his tongue.  Numbly he realises that his hands are shaking so he rushes over to the coffeemaker in anticipation; partly to give his hands something to do, but mostly so he does not have to look at the other man for a couple more minutes.

            ‘Come in, Blaine.’  Kurt throws over his shoulder.  _That’s it – cool and calm._

In hindsight the coffeemaker may not have been the best plan as it is noisy and he cannot hear whether Blaine has entered the loft as per Kurt’s invitation or not.  Kurt grips the countertop and, taking a breath, turns.

Blaine is watching him – eyes dark, arms folded across his chest drawing the fabric of the silk shirt tight across biceps that Kurt is _certain_ were not that defined last time they saw each other.  Kurt stifles a little cough and manages to splutter out something that resembles the word -

‘Coffee?’

            ‘Why were you looking for me?’  Blaine is all business.

            ‘I wanted to talk.’

            ‘We talked a couple of months back – it didn’t go so well.’

            ‘I know.  I tried to call…’

Blaine nods, but makes no move to say anything.  It feels like a stand-off.

            _One.  Two.  Three.  One.  Two.  Three._

            ‘What are you waiting for exactly?’  Blaine quirks an eyebrow at Kurt’s silence.

            ‘Um…I…’

            ‘You wanted to talk, Kurt.  I’m here; talk.’

_As if it could be that simple._

_One.  Two.  Three._

‘I…I’ve been doing a lot of thinking…’  Blaine gestures for Kurt to continue.  Kurt closes his eyes.  ‘I’m worried about you, Blaine.  We all are actually.’

            ‘And who is “we”, pray tell.’

            ‘Your _friends_ – you know: Sebastian, Rachel, Santana, and I.’

Blaine rolls his eyes and something in Kurt _twangs_.

            ‘Stop it!  Just stop it, Blaine.’

            ‘Stop what, exactly?’

            ‘This!  Whatever this is that you’re doing!’  He gestures wildly in Blaine’s direction before letting out a frustrated _huff_.  ‘What happened to us?  How did we get to this?’  His legs feel weak and he finds he desperately needs to sit down.  Ignoring the other man he crosses the living area and drops back down onto the sofa, his head in his hands, and stares numbly at the floor.

            _One, two, three._

He feels the cushion dip as Blaine takes a seat beside him.

            _One, two, three._

Blaine’s touch is tentative – a question, and Kurt answers by leaning into the proffered embrace.  He wants to comment – Blaine’s chest feels like rock, but he cannot bring himself to make a sound.

            _One, two_.

            ‘You’ll chip a tooth.’  Blaine’s voice is slightly gruff.  Kurt glances up.

            ‘Huh?’  _Three_.

            ‘You’re clacking.’ 

            ‘Oh.  I didn’t realise.’

            ‘Hm.’  Blaine does not sound convinced and Kurt frowns slightly.  ‘You were doing that last time I saw you too.’  He offers as an explanation.

            ‘I guess it helps me think or something.’

They fall back into the hush of each other’s breath and Kurt has to physically bite his tongue to stop himself clicking his stud suddenly paranoid about his lack of control over the rebellious organ.

            ‘So, my mother’s dead, hm?’

Kurt swallows sharply, but detects no malice or anger.

            ‘Santana tried to pull the sympathy card with the guy at reception when flirting failed her.’ 

Kurt feels Blaine nod slightly and the knot in his gut tightens.  The coffeemaker saves him from the silence and he is about to prise himself up when Blaine surprises him by standing instead.  Kurt fiddles idly with the hem of his waistcoat and is fleetingly grateful that he did not change into something more comfortable when he had returned to the loft earlier - at least he had dressed in anticipation of seeing Blaine.

He feels the man in question’s return and looks up when a mug appears before his eyes.

            ‘Thank you.’  Kurt accepts the mug and takes a moment to inhale the aroma – it has always calmed him ever since that first day he had been caught spying at Dalton.  They had grown together over the warm, rich aroma – it feels like decades ago.

            ‘What was your attempted visit about then?  Trying to spy on me again?’  Blaine’s tone is almost joking but there is an edge to it that Kurt has not heard before, and that (together with Blaine’s apparent mind-reading capabilities) catches Kurt off guard.

            _Why do we still have to be in sync?  What does that even mean?_

            ‘I…uh…I guess I just wanted to make sure you were alright.  Rachel had seen Sebastian and he had given her your address.’

            ‘Right.  Well – I’m fine, as you can see.  What else?’

            ‘Blaine.’  Kurt rolls his eyes.  ‘What happened with Sebastian?’

            ‘We fell out.’

            ‘That’s evident.’

            ‘Since when do you care whose company I keep anyway?  You’ve never been Bas’ greatest fan.’

            ‘Yes, well – he tried to blind you -’

            ‘He tried to slushie _you_ actually.’  Blaine takes a sip of coffee and Kurt finally lets their eyes meet.

            ‘What did you fall out over?’

            ‘How about we don’t talk about Sebastian and you talk about whatever it was you wanted to talk to me about?’

            ‘If you don’t want to talk about it I can just ask him.’  Blaine gestures “of course” with an air of “go ahead” and Kurt rolls his eyes.         ‘Fine.  When did you get this closed off and difficult?’

            ‘We’ve only got about,’ Blaine glances at his watch – gold and expensive and _new_ Kurt notes, ‘twenty minutes before your Rottweilers return so you might want to start talking _if_ you want to talk.’

            ‘What in the hell happened to you?’  Kurt frowns a little at Blaine’s choice of words, and Blaine echoes his expression.

            ‘You really want me to answer that?’ 

The sound of breath and blood is static in his ears and Kurt tries to regulate his breathing.

            ‘ _Fine._ It was something Elliot said -’ 

            ‘Oh, _that’s_ his name.’  Blaine takes another sip of his coffee.

            ‘Whose name?’

‘Tall guy with thick, dark hair – tattoos, piercings...  You know - your _boyfriend_.’

‘That’s him but he’s not my…  He’s just a friend.’

‘I bet he is.’  Blaine gives him a look and Kurt almost growls.

            ‘When did you –‘

            ‘See you two together?’  Blaine finishes for him.  Kurt nods dumbly and Blaine smiles a little.  ‘The morning after we last exchanged pleasantries.  I thought about what we said to each other and I wanted to apologise so I headed over here because I thought maybe, just maybe, we could repair our friendship.  But turns out you were busy.’

            ‘He’s a friend, Blaine.  We are in a band together and he’s one of the only real friends I’ve made since I came here.  What does it matter anyway?  You should have said something.’

            ‘I didn’t want to interrupt.’

            ‘You wouldn’t have been interrupting!  God, you are infuriating!  You saw me with another man and you freaked out!  You assumed!  So what if he had been my boyfriend, Blaine?  It’s not like you’re single is it?’

The other man does not answer and Kurt only just stops himself from clacking his tongue against his teeth when he hisses out a breath.  He looks at him then – really looks at him; yes, Blaine has muscled up – that is plain to see, but he looks smaller somehow, like he has not been eating properly or been getting enough sleep.  His pupils are blown too – to the extent that Kurt can hardly see his irises.  Gently he reaches out and places a hand on Blaine’s knee.

            ‘Blaine – where were you earlier?’

            ‘Out with some friends of mine.’

            ‘Who?’

            ‘You don’t know them.  Quit avoiding the conversation, Kurt – you said you and _Elliot_ were talking about me.  Go on…’

            ‘I just want to be sure I’m really talking to you and that you’ll remember this conversation…’

            ‘I only had a couple of drinks and that was _hours_ ago, _mother_.’

            ‘Damn it, Blaine – I care about you, okay, and at the moment it looks like you need someone to because you’re pushing everyone away and I’m worried about you.’

            ‘I told you – I’m fine, Kurt.  I have friends –‘

            ‘Friends who take you out drinking and who knows what else.’ 

            ‘You don’t get to judge me, Kurt.’ 

            ‘No – I remember.’ 

            ‘What exactly is that supposed to mean?’

He can feel Blaine tense beneath his fingers and Kurt squeezes his eyes closed briefly in an attempt to ground himself.

            ‘Please – just listen alright?  I don’t want to fight with you.  Please, Blaine.’  He waits until he is certain that the shorter man is listening to him before continuing; his thumb lightly stroking the other man’s knee in an ancient, calming gesture. 

But the words do not come.

Kurt feels Blaine’s hand cover his own, stilling the nervous movement of his thumb.

            ‘Are you happy, Kurt?’  Blaine’s voice is soft and Kurt bites his lip.

            ‘I’m fine.’

            ‘But are you happy?’

            ‘This isn’t about me.’

            ‘Kurt?’ 

He looks up and Blaine’s eyes are gentle – he recognises these eyes; they belong to the boy in the blazer.  Blaine’s hand squeezes his own gently and Kurt is running with him through wood-panelled corridors.

            _“Come on – I know a shortcut._ ”

            ‘When did you give up on your dream, Blaine?’  It comes out a little breathless and fast, and Kurt is not surprised when the smaller man stands, dropping Kurt’s hand.  He holds his breath as he braces for the venom and fire that seem to be a part of this new Blaine, but they never come.

            ‘Thanks for the coffee.’

            ‘Blaine – wait –‘

            ‘The girls are due back any minute.’  It feels like an excuse.

            ‘Stay?’  Kurt hates how needy and desperate his voice sounds.

            ‘I should go home, but swing by tomorrow and we’ll talk, okay?  You know where I live.’

The offer hangs like a golden thread and Kurt knows he has no choice – he never has when it comes to this man before him.  He nods and watches a smile ghost across Blaine’s features.

Blaine’s absence fills the loft as the door slides closed behind him.

 

-+-

 

            After Blaine’s departure Kurt had stayed pretty much motionless until his loft-mates had returned – he needed to pick up a present for Santana because she had taken one look at him and then sent Rachel to bed without a word.  Kurt had retired to bed not long after, but even his old tag-team of _Ambien_ and his boyfriend-pillow, Bruce, had been unable to quiet his racing mind.  He had _glimpsed_ Blaine – _his_ Blaine - beneath this tense and angry new version, and he could not help but take the other man’s invitation to talk as anything other than a positive sign.  Now, standing in the elevator as it carried him up to the penthouse(!) he was not so certain. 

He had been expected when he had arrived – fortunately the receptionist was an older gentleman and not Markus from the previous day, so Kurt had avoided the embarrassment of _that_ encounter – and had been sent straight up to meet “Mr. Anderson”.  As the lift doors slid open Kurt was blind to everything except the man standing before him.  Eventually, Kurt remembered to breathe, exiting the elevator with a step towards Blaine that displayed more certainty than he felt.  Blaine looked dishevelled – like he had not had any sleep – but more “with it” than he had the previous evening.

            ‘Hi.’  Kurt managed.

            ‘Hi.’ 

A smile traced Blaine’s lips and Kurt found his own mirroring them.  The other man slowly took a step backwards and gestured for Kurt to enter with a sweep of his arm.  Kurt took a breath and walked past Blaine and into the apartment. 

            ‘Coffee?’  Blaine’s voice is softer than it was the previous night – almost apologetic and Kurt can only nod his response; this Blaine is at odds with the one he had been expecting, yet he is not quite the Blaine Kurt had hoped for either.  Wide-eyed, he watches as the smaller man pours two cups and tries not to wonder at the sheer size of the place – yes, the loft was big, but this place was _huge_ , and tastefully decorated.  Deep down, Kurt had been hoping that the place would be over-the-top and ostentatious – with patterned carpets, textured walls and chintz.  The reality is anything but.

            ‘Thanks.’  He manages as Blaine hands him a blue and white T.G. Green mug, and Kurt uses it to warm his hands as he follows the other man further into the apartment.  He watches warily as Blaine takes a seat on the sofa, but the other man simply smiles slightly.

            ‘You know you want to, Kurt.  Go on.’

Kurt manages to refuse the invitation to inspect and peruse, instead taking the seat next to Blaine.

            ‘I’m here to talk.’

            ‘I know.  You can look if you want to though - I won’t hold it against you.’

            ‘I know – but I’d rather just…’

            ‘Alright.’  Blaine gently places his own mug down onto the coffee table and Kurt finds himself mirroring him.  Blaine draws in a slow breath.  ‘Sorry about last night.’

            ‘It’s fine.’

            ‘It’s not fine, Kurt.  I was out of line.’

            ‘It’s alright, really.’

Blaine’s lips are a tight line, his eyebrows flat, and shoulders slightly rounded – he looks defeated.

            _One.  Two.  Three.  One._

Blaine raises his eyebrow and Kurt bites his tongue.

            ‘Sorry.’

            ‘Finish or it’ll kill you.’

            ‘I’m sorry, what?’

            ‘Threes.  You clack in threes.’  He says it as if it were obvious – but no one else had said anything.

            ‘Oh.’  _He’s right_.  The knowledge makes Kurt’s brain itch.

  1.  _Three._



            ‘You were right, by the way.’  Blaine looks down at his fingers.

            ‘I usually am.  What about this time?’ 

            ‘You are.’  Blaine laughs a little at Kurt’s comment and the sound tingles in Kurt’s pores.  ‘About talking to you when I saw you with Elliot - I should have done something.’

            ‘Yes.’  Kurt reclaims his mug and takes a tentative sip of the coffee – he only just manages to keep in a delighted moan at the flavour.  At least – he thought he had, but Blaine’s amused eyes tell him otherwise so he quickly endeavours to change the subject.  ‘I’m sorry about Rachel.’ 

            ‘I’m glad you have people who care about you.’  Blaine’s eyes flick up and Kurt finds himself studying them again – looking for discernable changes in them from now to when he spent _hours_ memorizing them _before_.  Before New York.  Before this mess.

            ‘You do too.’

            ‘I know.’  Blaine’s smile lingers on his lips but fades from his eyes.  Kurt frowns as Blaine redirects the conversation.  ‘So – what did you want to talk to me about?  I…uh…I don’t have a cell phone anymore so I know I’ve been hard to get hold of.’

            ‘Please get a cell, Blaine.  It’s the twenty first century.’

            ‘The landline serves the same purpose.’

            ‘Not when you don’t answer it.’

            ‘Touché.  But back to the topic – you were talking to Elliot?’

            ‘Stop changing the subject - it’s not like you can’t afford one…’  Blaine’s features darken and Kurt immediately adds _money_ to the mental list of “things to not talk to Blaine about right now”.  Kurt sighs.  ‘Elliot just told me that we…you and I…we needed to talk.’

            ‘I’m pretty sure that’s not the story, Kurt.’

            ‘I…I’m sorry.  I’m sorry about a lot of things.  I pushed you away and I am starting to understand that it may have been the greatest mistake of my life.’

            ‘What exactly are you saying?’

            ‘What I’m saying is that – I miss you, Blaine.  You were my best friend… you were my everything.  Without you I don’t think I’d have made it to graduation let alone New York, and when you cheated on me I didn’t stop to work out _why_ , because the man I knew…he would _never_ have done something to hurt me on purpose.  I’ve done a lot of thinking, and for a while - I’m not going to lie – I wanted to forget you took my hand and sang your way into my life.  It was so easy to blame you - you made it easy.  But the truth of the matter is – _we_ broke us.  Both of us, together.  I think you realised that before I did…  When Dad asked you to come up for Christmas I was terrible to you – but Dad’s news kind of knocked me over and I don’t think I…  When I saw you there at the ice rink I wanted to believe so desperately that _this_ had all been a terrible nightmare – but you looked at me with those huge, sad, puppy eyes of yours and all I could remember was that night after _Callbacks_ and it made me feel sick.  I had just found out my Dad had cancer and when I saw you all I could think about was how much I wanted _you_ and I _hated_ you for making me feel like that.’  He goes quiet, but Blaine makes no move to say anything.  ‘Adam was my rebound and the thing is – he knew it before I did.  He _knew_ I wasn’t over you so he left me.’

            ‘Why are you telling me this?’

He wants to say _“I still love you, Blaine.  I’ve always loved you and I think I always will._ ”  Blaine’s eyes are soft and earnest.  Kurt reaches out and pulls Blaine’s hand into his lap.

            ‘Because I –‘ 

But there is a man in the room who pulls Blaine into his arms and away from Kurt.  He is tall – far taller than Blaine – his hair and eyes dark, and, though travel weary, he is immaculately dressed in a suit that is obviously bespoke.  He is trailed by the receptionist from the day before – Markus – who puts down the suitcases he carries, as the tall man showers Blaine unashamedly with kisses and concern.  Kurt watches as Blaine kisses him back.  Kurt watches the genuine smile break out across Blaine’s face.  Markus shoots Kurt a look he cannot decipher as he leaves and Kurt wants nothing more than to follow, but he is frozen.  So, Kurt watches.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: As always you blow me away with your comments. Thank you all so much for your kudos, reviews and likes - it means the world to me that you are enjoying this.


	9. Smashed

###  Smashed

            It is so painfully awkward sitting in that living room across from the man that had been merely a name and a concept, so far from his thoughts mere moments before – an obstacle to be overcome. The sheer reality of the situation has knocked the breath from him, and he cannot help but feel so utterly foolish for thinking that all he needed to do was talk to Blaine, tell him that he loved him, and that Blaine would be his again. That everything could just go back to being how it was. Things can never go back to how they were.

He had no idea that actually watching Blaine kiss another man could be so painful – his mind has been playing tricks on him, showing him shadows pawing and pressing and touching – and, yes, that had been uncomfortable, but Denial is a strong defender of sanity. Denial had convinced Kurt that Douglas was nothing more than a road-bump – a temporary inconvenience – Blaine’s way of filling the hole Kurt left within him (as Kurt had tried to do with Adam). Douglas was supposed to be no more than an old man; pathetic and lecherous, and Kurt was supposed to have swooped in to rescue Blaine with an “I love you”… But now Kurt is not so certain Blaine needs rescuing, at least not by him, because the thing that Blaine needs rescuing from is certainly not Douglas.

It is so easy to see how Blaine could have fallen for the man before him – Douglas exudes charm and confidence, hell, even sitting opposite Kurt as he is now his presence fills the space with a sophisticated intensity. Blaine had left the room to get some refreshments for the tall, dark-haired man, who must be utterly exhausted after such a long flight, and had steadfastly avoided making any kind of eye-contact with Kurt. Kurt had tried not to read anything into it as he stood awkwardly to offer his hand to the intruder. His back straightens under the other man’s gaze and he expects to be questioned, to be judged – were their roles reversed he knows he would be throwing Douglas his best over-protective bitch glare – but Douglas seems merely curious and mildly appreciating. He actually seems grateful.

            ‘Forgive me for not introducing myself immediately - I’m Douglas. You must be Kurt? Blaine’s told me a lot about you.’

            ‘Really?’ Kurt cannot mask his surprise – he half expects a smirk or some sort of celebration for catching Kurt off-guard, but it never comes. This is a man Kurt does not understand yet – he cannot detect what Douglas’ play is here and the thought terrifies him a little. He feels unprepared and unarmed.

            ‘It’s really nice to finally meet you. I’m glad you and Blaine seem to be getting around to talking.’

            ‘Oh?’ He mentally cringes at his apparent inability to utter anything beyond monosyllables, mirroring him subconsciously as Douglas takes a seat.

            ‘I was concerned – life’s too short to hold on to disagreements.’

Kurt nods his agreement and quickly reaches for his long-cold coffee, desperate for something to do.

            ‘So – you’ve been abroad?’ Kurt has no idea what the protocol is here, and has no clue how to read Douglas – so he settles for awkward small talk, finding that he is furious with Blaine for abandoning him to this situation.

            ‘For business, yes.’ Douglas crosses his long legs and glances in the direction of the kitchen as if he too is wondering what is taking Blaine’s time. ‘Kurt, may I ask you something?’

His eyes snap up to meet Douglas’ and Kurt braces himself because this must be it – the scantily concealed threat to _keep away_ he had been expecting ever since he realised Douglas must know who he is.

            ‘How has he been?’

            ‘Blaine?’

Douglas nods and Kurt was not expecting to see the tumult of emotions that flood the other man’s dark eyes – there’s a genuine concern there that is so palpable that it makes Kurt question his every belief about his ability to read people. He had been so certain that Blaine was miserable and had assumed that Douglas would be the cause. Was that not how stories like this always went?

            ‘He’s not been returning my calls, and his friends seemed so concerned that I knew I had to come home. I feel so terrible for leaving for so long – I promised him I’d never put work before him but I guess I did… I forgot how stressful a new city can be – let alone starting college…and I left him to cope alone trusting that…because he sounded fine… I’m starting to think it was an act.’

            ‘I think you need to ask him.’

            ‘Ask him what?’ Blaine’s re-entry into the room is frustratingly timely, and Kurt feels like he has been caught red-handed for the second time that evening. He watches as Blaine gently hands Douglas a cup of what looks suspiciously like hot chocolate before disappearing back to the kitchen and returning with two more. Kurt takes the pro-offered cup with a raised eyebrow – he had been expecting to be asked to leave, not to be treated to another beverage, sitting around chatting like the three of them were old friends.

            ‘Kurt was reminding me of something, that’s all.’

            ‘And what would that be?’ Blaine looks over the rim of his own mug as he gently blows some steam from it.

            ‘The importance of communication.’

Kurt watches as Blaine shifts a little uncomfortably from his place next to Kurt on the sofa. It had not skipped Kurt’s attention that Douglas had chosen to sit in one of the armchairs rather than on the other sofa where there would be room and invitation for Blaine to join him. The distance seems at odds with the rest of the situation and Kurt inhales the familiar spiced, thick aroma of his drink in an attempt to calm his overwhelmed senses. Perhaps this was Douglas not making Blaine choose? Could the other man be so confident? The concept clashes with the sentiment of Douglas’ choice of topic and Kurt’s mind reels from trying to untangle subtext.

Beside him, Blaine ducks his head in a gesture that screams at Kurt. The chocolate is hot and it burns but he swallows it down anyway for something to do.

            ‘I wasn’t expecting you back for another couple of weeks.’ Blaine’s voice is a little tentative and Kurt tries to avoid glaring at the man next to him for starting whatever this is _now_ while Kurt is trapped in the room.

            ‘I was worried about you.’ Douglas’ voice is soft, and a little placating.

Blaine’s little _hmn_ echoes in Kurt’s ears.

            _‘I’m worried about you, Blaine. We all are actually.’_ It’s like an epiphany – the clear understanding of the amused, despairing disbelief behind those liquid amber eyes. Words, words, words - so easy to say. He wonders how many times Blaine has heard that sentence. _‘You’re pushing everyone away and_ I’m worried about you. _’_ Kurt wishes he could take it all back.

 

-+-

 

            He wakes suddenly, heart pounding against aching ribs, with a single thought – the letter and the rose!

            _If he sees he’ll know! He’ll know everything!_

Night-cool sheets cling to him as he turns, grateful for once that Douglas is not a cuddler when he sleeps. Senses heightened through all-consuming anxiety he manages to slip from the bed without waking his partner and, freezing with every rushed rustle of bare feet on carpet, finally makes it out of the bedroom.

He pads across the apartment and flinches as the door’s hinges protestfrom lack of use. It stands, imposing and proud before him in all its gloss-black glory, and Blaine makes quick work opening it up, revealing a bright slash of red. The rose lies between the folded sheets of the letter, a tell-tale stain now marring the white sheets. He moves them gingerly and is grateful that the keys all still look perfect as he ghosts his fingers over them, careful not to touch. He buries the remains of both letter and rose beneath some towels in the linen closet for retrieval next time Douglas is not home, and sets about making his way back to their bedroom – but he finds himself back before the piano.

 

-+-

 

 _He knew he should be cold – he was not exactly dressed for the weather, but propped between Felix and Miss D., his veins flushed with alcohol, he could barely feel a thing. Charlie had slipped into the passenger seat of the taxi and reeled off the directions to Blaine’s and for that he was thankful – he was not completely sure he could recall his address right now. Miss D.’s fingers were trailing up and down the inner seam of his pants leg and his head was so fuzzy – but he felt looser than he had in_ weeks _._

_They had tumbled out of the back of the cab and somehow made it inside before Blaine had felt a firm hand on his shoulder._

_‘Mr. Anderson?’_

_Blaine span on his heel to face the owner of said hand and voice, his vision took a moment to catch up, but he managed to wave Charlie and his friends on successfully._

_‘Markus! How are you this evening?’_

_‘Very well, sir. I just thought I should let you know that a lady and a gentleman – a Mr. Hummel? - were looking for you this evening… It’s about your mother.’_

_Then there was static._

-+-

 

            He had never been prepared for Kurt, and the effect that the mere physicality of him wandering through a space that had been purely _Douglas_ had felt a lot like….not exactly cheating, but something close and it had put him on guard. He had been prepared for…he was not really sure…but talking with Kurt – actually _talking_ , even if it had only been for the briefest moment - had been refreshing. He had actually felt Kurt make a decision to open up a little again and Blaine had _ached_ to see it because beneath the snark and the anger _his_ Kurt was still there.

            _But he isn’t_ mine _._

Blaine runs his fingers through his hair, tugging slightly to calm himself, or punish himself – he is not really sure there is a difference. He forces himself to clear his mind – he knows Douglas will want to actually talk to him at some point today and he will not be able to distract him this time with physical comforts. Which means Blaine will have to tell him about college, Sebastian, the Kingsmen, _Bar Henry_ – all of it. Including the Kurt of it all.

Seeing them both in the same room had been surreal – it was as if someone upstairs had been mocking him: showing him the two paths his life could take. No – not _could_ because Kurt had been so very clear about what Blaine was to him over the past months. But, if that was true – why did it feel like something _more_ earlier? As if Kurt was trying to tell him something. He had glimpsed that boy again beneath the man Kurt was becoming – so sweet and tender. Kurt had needed Blaine back then and it had felt so good to be needed, wanted, trusted, loved… a thousand things and more. When he convinced Kurt to leave – to go to New York – he had been so certain that he had been doing the right thing… He _had_ – for Kurt at least. He had not expected Kurt finding himself in New York to make him feel so trapped, alone, and left-behind; unneeded, and unwanted.

That is what it all boils down to. Blaine’s constant need to please – to be needed, wanted, loved. His weaknesses.

Kurt does not need him to protect him anymore. He does not need Blaine’s guidance, or reassurance, or love. Looking at it, that is what their relationship was about really, and that was the reason it failed – because Blaine _knew_. He knew Kurt could become this strong, independent man so full of courage…

His final gift to Kurt had been his freedom so what are they to each other now? Could they be friends? Is that what Kurt had come to talk to him about? Can he be friends with Kurt again? He would take that in a heartbeat over this twisted haze of avoidance and confrontation.

But he has friends…he has Charlie…Doug and Hunter...

 

-+-

 

            _‘Bas, I’ve told you a hundred times – I am happy. I am fine. Drop it, alright?’_

_Blaine tares off the corner of his, as yet, untouched sandwich with his fingers - glaring when Sebastian rolls his eyes._

_‘Sure you are.’_

_For a second he thinks that maybe Sebastian will drop it – that maybe they can go back to talking about normal things – like the fact that one of their lecturers speaks like a robot and has been wearing the same skirt for three days in a row, or that one of the guys in their last lecture had totally been checking Sebastian out…_

_‘So, tell me this, Blaine, if you_ are _so happy – why is that?’_

_‘Really? You really want me to list the reasons I’m not miserable?’_

_‘No. I want you to tell me why you’re happy. Not being “miserable” is not the same as being happy, Blaine.’_

_‘Why don’t you tell me why_ you’re _happy? Quid pro quo.’_

_‘This is not about me.’_

_‘Why does it_ always _have to be about me?’_

_‘Because I’m worried about you.’_

_‘Why?’_

_‘You barely eat – you spend all of your spare time beating on that punching bag – it’s like you’re avoiding everyone! It took me a_ week _to get you to join me for lunch and all you have done is pick at a sandwich.’_

_He knows it is childish but in that instant he does not care – he takes a large bite of his, now mostly dismantled, sandwich and glares at the man opposite him._

_‘Happy?’_

_‘This is not about that and you know it.’_

_‘Fine. I’ll say it – it sucks. It sucks going home to that massive apartment alone. It sucks that the man I love is thousands of miles away, and it sucks he’s going to be gone for at least another month. But I can’t do anything about any of that. Happy? Is that what you wanted, Sebastian?’_

_The taller man reaches across the table to take one of Blaine’s hands and it is only then that he realises that he has balled them into fists._

_‘Then spend more time with me. That’s what friends do. You don’t have to be alone all the time like you’re punishing yourself for something, Blaine.’_

_‘I’m not_ punishing _myself.’_

_‘Okay. So – come over tonight? I’ll cook and we can watch a film?’_

_‘You know I have to be in around ten for Douglas’ call.’_

_‘Fine – no film, but I’m still cooking dinner.’_

_‘Bas…’_

_‘Blaine.’_

_Sebastian’s eyes are earnest; wide and full of something that looks a lot like pity – as if Blaine is some lost little puppy._

_‘Fine.’_

_‘Thank you.’ Sebastian smiles a little and goes back to attacking his pasta salad._

_They never get around to dinner – Blaine had arrived a little early at his friend’s flat and Sebastian had taken that as invitation for an intervention._

_‘So – you given Douglas an answer yet?’_

_‘No.’_

_‘Why?’_

_‘He’s not exactly in the country right now, Bas.’_

_‘So? You must know whether you’re going to marry him or not.’_

_‘I do…I am…I just…’_

_‘Look, Blaine, I just want you to be certain.’_

_‘You were all for this at the beginning. What changed?’_

_‘I just… I was thinking and –‘_

_‘-You were thinking-’_

_‘-yes…and I want you to look at something.’_

_Blaine recognises the paper as being from Sebastian’s leather organiser. The first line makes his blood surge._

When you were 16 he was 50.

When you were 10 he was 44.

_He stops reading._

_‘I’ve done the math. Since_ when _do you have a problem with my relationship? Why do you always have a problem with whoever I’m with?’_

 _‘Blaine – please listen, okay. I like Douglas – I can see why you’d be attracted to him he is a complete silver fox, but if you marry him – sure it’ll be great for the next ten, maybe fifteen, years, but what happens when he’s seventy and you’re in your prime, Blaine? It’s not going to be fantastic sex or his financial support that keeps you happy then. What happens when he’s eighty – or even ninety – and you_ hate _him for taking your youth? Are you prepared to be his live-in carer in his old age?’_

_‘You think so little of me?’_

_‘Blaine, that’s not what I mean.’_

_‘No. I know_ exactly _what you mean, Sebastian. You know, I thought you were my friend.’_

 _‘I_ am _.’_

_‘Friends support each other.’_

_‘I do support you, Blaine!’_

_‘Thanks for the dinner invite but I think I’ll pass.’_

_‘Blaine, stay – please? I’m sorry if I offended you but –‘_

_‘But_ what _, Sebastian? Didn’t it occur to you that I_ know _? I know that when I’m in my sixties he’ll be in his nineties. I_ know _. I know and I don’t care because he makes me feel loved and wanted and he_ loves _me. He loves me, and he needs me as much as I need him.’_

_‘I’m not debating that – I just don’t want to see you in your fifties alone or trying to bring up a couple of kids as a single dad -’_

_‘- I get it. I get it…’_

_‘Blaine, please!’_

_‘Goodbye, Sebastian.’_

-+-

 

            He must have fallen asleep at the piano because he wakes to Douglas’ gentle hand on his shoulder to discover a crick in his neck. Blaine stretches and for a horrible moment he is certain that he must have imprints from the keys on his face but a quick check placates him.

            ‘Why didn’t you come back to bed?’

            ‘I was thinking.’

Douglas nods but says nothing, seemingly deep in thought.

            ‘Thank you.’ He is not sure why _now_ is the right time, but he felt he _had_ to say it then. Blaine tries to ignore the voice in the back of his head that tells him it is because he may not have a chance later.

            ‘What for?’ Douglas frowns in his confusion.

            ‘This.’ He indicates the Steinway. ‘It is beautiful...’

The other man smiles at that.

            ‘I just wanted to give you something back.’

            ‘What do you mean?’

            ‘You give me so much, Blaine.’

The concept is foreign to Blaine; out of reach – vaporous and intangible - he cannot grasp it.

            ‘I think we need to talk.’ Douglas takes a chair across from Blaine’s perch on the piano stool and waits. That is something Blaine will never get over – how Douglas never pushes, how he lets Blaine dictate pace.

Blaine dips his head – he had known it was only a matter of time; he had been expecting it the previous evening to be honest. He considers distraction tactics – he could repeat last night, climbing onto Douglas’ lap with fervent kisses and whispered adoration, he could dance around the topic and try to reflect it back onto Douglas so that he talks about himself first, but in the end Blaine knows he is too tired for either option. He runs an idle finger across the keys before him before gently depressing middle C. The note reverberates in the space between them long after Blaine’s hands had returned to his lap.

            ‘I’m not sure how to start…’

            ‘Blaine, just _talk_ to me, darling. I’m not going to judge you or shout at you…’

            ‘I know, I just… I’m sorry I went AWOL. I didn’t mean to scare you or make you come back early… I just. I feel untethered. Does that make any sense? I…I just don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t deserve any of this – you, this piano… I…’ He stops and tries to stabilise his breathing before he has a complete break-down. The last thing Douglas needs to be dealing with is an emotional teenager right now. He runs his fingers through his hair and tries to focus on separating his thoughts and feelings into topics.

            ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you.’

            ‘It’s not your job to help me.’

            ‘You are not a job or a chore, Blaine.’

            ‘Then why do I feel like I am? I mean…you had to come home early because I couldn’t go a couple of months unsupervised!’

            ‘Moving to a new place is hard, Blaine. Let alone starting a new college in that new city.’

            ‘But I’m not new to New York!’ He stands in his frustration sending the stool tumbling behind him. The crash shocks him into silence and he stops. Douglas is still sat; watching him – but there is no trace of wariness in his eyes, only there is something else…something unreadable. Blaine mumbles an apology, righting the stool before taking a seat again.

            ‘You’re right – I was concerned about you, and I did come back early because of that. But I wasn’t giving you the support you needed, Blaine, so why would I be angry or upset with you? I’m just glad you’re alright and you seem to be working things out with your friends…’

            ‘Kurt was only here to talk –‘

            ‘I know. I’m glad you two are talking again. I think there’s a lot between you both that you need to work through.’

            ‘I love you.’

            ‘I know. I love you too. But this is a partnership – I’d been a bachelor for fifteen years before you, Blaine. Sometimes I’m going to be selfish and I need you to pick me up on it. Just as I’m going to pick you up on belittling yourself or putting yourself down. Deal?’

            ‘Deal.’ His laugh comes out squeaky and he cannot help but lean forward towards his partner.

            ‘Look, I need to confess something to you – I’m not proud of it, but I panicked when I hadn’t heard from you and I called Sebastian. He told me that you’re not happy, Blaine.’ He goes to interject but Douglas merely holds up a hand. ‘He’s a good friend, Blaine – I told you before that people like us have to be each other’s family. I meant it, every word.’ Blaine rolls his eyes a little but nods his agreement and Douglas smiles at him softly. ‘You’re not happy at Columbia, Blaine.’

            ‘No.’

            ‘Tell me what I can do to help.’

 

-+-

 

            ‘Did you tell him?’ Rachel’s smile is so goddamn earnest that in that moment Kurt wants nothing better than to smack her but it is late and he is exhausted.

            ‘No. His boyfriend came home.’ He thinks he managed to keep the bitterness from his voice.

            ‘Wanky.’ Santana emerges from behind the partition, eyebrow raised and Kurt tries to communicate how much he does not want to talk about it with the power of his mind. ‘I told you - my third eye is never wrong, Berry.’

Kurt rolls his eyes before leaving his flatmates in the communal area, drawing the curtain against them and the world, tuning out the sound of their voices.

 

Sleep does not come easily, but when it does come he dreams of darkness.

 

He wakes to the sound of his cell alerting him to a text message. Groggy from too little sleep he gropes for the offending object and stares through bleary eyes at the screen. The message is from an unknown number and for a second he considers hurling the phone away and simply rolling back over, but something makes him open the message.

**Hey, it’s Blaine. You were right (as always) – it is the 21 st century. This is my new number, but you guessed that, right? So, I was wondering whether you wanted to finish that chat sometime? Let me know. – Bx**

-+-

 **A/N:** I just wanted to take this time to apologise to you all.  I’m not going to bore you with tales of woe or my health – just know that I am feeling a lot better and my muse has returned! This chapter is dedicated to you all and I promise it will not be long before the next one follows.

For those wondering when the Klaine will start – don’t worry, there’s not long left to wait.


	10. Before the Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentions of past violence (no actual descriptions).

### Before the Dawn

            ‘She’s just being such a diva right now, Blaine.  I honestly want to throttle her.’

Blaine rolls his eyes fondly and Kurt feels some of the tension in his shoulders melt away a little.

Since Blaine had reacquainted himself with the modern world they had been surprisingly successful in organising to meet up.  The first coffee-meet (Kurt refused to call them coffee _dates_ ) had been a little strained at first, yet oddly comfortable, though Blaine had not been particularly talkative.  Kurt had found himself filling in the silences by telling the other man all about the N.Y. drama he had missed – specifically the Santana-Rachel saga regarding Rachel’s upcoming role on Broadway as Fanny in _Funny Girl_ , and Santana’s recent, albeit brief, stint as her understudy.  As time had passed it had almost seemed normal – it was only when Kurt made a reference to an event Blaine had not been party to – such as Artie having moved to New York for film school – that it hits Kurt just how isolated from his old friends Blaine had become.  The fact that Blaine had also seemingly stopped keeping up with the Broadway blogs (or anything remotely Arts related) had Kurt concerned, and that, together with Blaine’s apparent lack of desire to share anything about himself, prickled the back of Kurt’s mind.  However, it was so wonderful to have someone to talk to again - someone who understood the unique brand of bat-shit-crazy that was his McKinley friends.  Sure, he had Elliot, but the poor man had seemed so utterly exasperated when Rachel and Santana had tried to get him to take sides…  No - Elliot was not used to that kind of drama.  Blaine however, had quickly caught up and actually seemed to enjoy listening to Kurt - giving the correct responses when required, and generally agreeing with Kurt’s viewpoints - sympathising with him and reassuring him that,

_No – it’s not just you, Kurt; that’s not okay._

or

_She was completely out of line to say that to you._

            ‘Come on, Kurt.  I know she can be a little…much sometimes, but she’s not that bad.’

            ‘They gave her a town car.’

            ‘Isn’t that, like, a limousine with a chauffeur?’

            ‘Don’t let her hear you say that.’

            ‘Why?’  Blaine’s eyes are laughing.

            ‘Artie called it that after he got mugged –‘

            ‘Is he alright?!’  Blaine’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline and Kurt quickly grabs one of his hands to calm him.  Reflex actions.

            ‘-he’s fine (physically anyway), but Rachel tried to “relate” –‘

            ‘Oh dear…’

            ‘Exactly – and it ended up with him telling her she’s not a real person anymore.’

            ‘Ouch.’

            ‘Yes.  So, Santana’s on Lesbos with Brittany, Mercedes and Artie are in New York, Rachel is a nightmare, and I think you’re about caught up.’

Kurt smiles a little at the man opposite him until he realises that he is still holding Blaine’s hand.  He releases it with a little cough and straightens up.  Blaine raises an eyebrow and Kurt takes the opportunity to actually look at him.  He looks a little tired still, but otherwise Blaine looks a lot more relaxed than he had the last couple of times they had seen each other.  Kurt takes a breath and quickly weighs up whether or not he should just leave things where they are for the moment.

            ‘Oh no – I know that face…’  Blaine tilts his head to one side, looking over his cup at him.  Kurt frowns, mentally kicking himself for being so transparent.

            ‘Bla-ine…’ 

            ‘Ku-rt.’  Blaine mimics Kurt’s tone and there is a smile on his lips but his eyes are guarded.

            ‘I was just going to say how nice this is.’

It is a cop-out but he is starting to realise that he cannot push Blaine – the man across from him has built up a wall (or a number of them) and Kurt knows it is going to take time for Blaine to let him back in.  He smiles as genuinely as he can before finishing what is left of his mocha – there’s a glimpse of relief(?) in Blaine’s eyes, but Kurt cannot be certain.

            ‘May I get you another one?’

Kurt’s eyes capture Blaine’s lips as the other man talks, and Kurt feels his cheeks glow hot in response.

            ‘Always the gentleman.’  Embarrassed, he glances at his cell phone to check the time and almost misses the warm smile of his companion.  They have been in the tiny Italian coffee shop, chosen by Blaine - no doubt because it is neutral territory - for well over two hours and Kurt knows he has two choices – accept Blaine’s offer and continue their conversation (which could potentially end in a disagreement, given their recent communique), or end it now while things are good and set up a next time.  ‘I actually should be heading back – I have my Mid-Winter Critique in a couple of days and I really should practice…’  He glances up to gauge Blaine’s reaction – but the other man is not giving much away.  ‘So…um…this has been really nice.’

Blaine nods slightly in agreement and Kurt almost cringes at how much Blaine is physically withdrawing from him.  It does not sit right in his chest – Blaine had always been so forthcoming and open with him before.

            ‘So – I…uh…I know you don’t know him, but…I was wondering if you’d like to – well not _like_ , I mean, it’s not something anyone would _like_ to go to…’  He trails off and glances across at Blaine who is studying him intently, before taking a breath to steady himself.  ‘Our neighbour’s friend – Russ - he was attacked…’  Kurt’s eyes dart across Blaine’s face and he is partly relieved and partly saddened by how quickly the smaller man catches Kurt’s meaning.  ‘There’s a candlelit vigil tomorrow night…’

            ‘Of course I’ll go with you if you want me to.’      

Blaine’s eyes are dark and doing that earnest thing that makes Kurt’s knees wobble but he manages to nod, only just catching himself before he clacks his piercing against his teeth.  Blaine shifts slightly and Kurt could have sworn that Blaine had been about to take his hand to comfort him.  Kurt realises this cannot be easy for him either – and not just because Blaine had been physically attacked in the past because of his sexuality (like Russ).  Kurt had never quite managed to get the full story from Blaine about what had happened after that Sadie Hawkins dance, and he had never really pushed - it had been the catalyst for Blaine to transfer to Dalton and without it Kurt and Blaine may never have met - but he had felt the scars; faded and pale slithers - the ghosts of prejudice and violence - against his fingertips.

            ‘Are you alright, Kurt?’ 

Kurt must have shivered or something because Blaine is still giving him that look.  He forces himself to smile and nods before standing and collecting his bag.  Blaine predictably stands in response and Kurt’s smile becomes a little more genuine at the familiarity of the gesture.

Neither hesitates before they hug – Blaine’s chin hooks over Kurt’s shoulder like it belongs there, and Kurt can feel the muscles in Blaine’s back relax slightly in the embrace.  Kurt’s hands yearn to roam as if they want physical proof that the man in his arms is back where he should be, while Kurt squeezes his eyes closed against the wave in his lungs that threatens to crush him.  His throat feels tight and he tenses to make sure he does not inadvertently press his lips to Blaine’s neck in response. 

            ‘Until tomorrow then?’

            ‘Tomorrow.’

It is both a promise and a prayer.

 

-+-

 

            A couple of years ago, the last person Sebastian would ever have expected to see at his door would have been Kurt, but truth be told, he had been expecting a visit sooner or later (truthfully he thought it would have been a little bit _sooner_ ).  He held the door open in the universal gesture for “come on in then” before offering the other man a drink, which was politely, and predictably, declined.

            ‘You can sit you know.’  Sebastian states as he settles into one of the dark leather armchairs that bookend his living room.  Kurt perches on the facing chair and Sebastian waits until he grows impatient with Kurt’s continued silence.

            ‘How is he, Kurt?’

            ‘I’m honestly not sure…’  They both know they are talking about Blaine.

            ‘You’ve seen him then?’

            ‘I thought you knew?’

            ‘I guessed.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘So – what happened?’  Sebastian prompts when Kurt makes no sign of continuing the conversation.

            ‘Nothing.’

            ‘Something must have happened or you wouldn’t be here.’

Kurt smiles slightly in response to Sebastian’s comment and nods.

            ‘He’s so -’

            ‘Reactive?  Defensive?  Distant?  Damn pig-headed?’  Sebastian lists as he heads over towards the sideboard, pouring himself a glass of whiskey from a heavy-looking crystal decanter, deciding that this conversation definitely needs some help.  Kurt raises an eyebrow but says nothing until Sebastian has resituated himself.

 ‘I was going to say “quiet”.’

 ‘I stand by my assessment.’  He takes a sip of the amber liquid and tries not to associate it with the colour of his friend’s eyes after that fated conversation in the club.  ‘So, how can I help, Kurt?’

‘What was he like…after?’

‘You mean Christmas?’  Kurt nods and Sebastian rolls his eyes.  ‘How do you think?’ 

‘He won’t talk to me.  Not about anything important, anyway.’

‘Are you honestly surprised?’

Kurt shakes his head and Sebastian knocks back the rest of his drink.

            ‘I just…I don’t want to keep tiptoeing around him, you know?’

            ‘At least he’s talking to you.’

            ‘What happened between you two, Sebastian?’

Sebastian laughs and runs a hand through his hair, fingers toying with the glass in his hand as if he were contemplating getting a second.

            ‘Here’s the thing about Blaine, Kurt – he needs to feel needed.  It’s this White Knight complex and it does my head in because who outside of a Disney movie is actually that goddamn selfless?’

            ‘He’s not selfless –‘

            ‘No?  He’s downright noble… it’s what attracted him to me at first – I wanted to corrupt him, but you know what he did?  He saw through it.  He saw through the pretence and he tried to be my friend anyway.  You fucked him, Hummel – bet he spent the whole of your first time together asking how it was for you and whether you were alright.  He _never_ puts himself first.  He spent _months_ torturing himself, Kurt.  _Months._ Hell – it’s almost been a year.’  He avoids eye contact with the other man and pours himself another drink.  Kurt stays silent and for some reason that infuriates Sebastian more.  ‘You know what, Kurt?  I _knew_ something was up with him.  I _knew_ it, but he seemed better so I closed my eyes to it.  I figured – hey, what’s the worst that can happen?  He’s at his best when he’s serving people – when he has someone to put before himself.  I thought leading the Warblers would have been enough, but he was flying off the rails…  Douglas was good for him, Kurt.’

            ‘I know.’  Kurt’s voice does not even waiver and Sebastian’s eyes flicker up to meet the other man’s. 

            ‘Kurt, I… I care about him.  He’s probably the only real friend I have ever had, but if you’re here to get me to talk to him for you you’re wasting your time.’

            ‘I care about him too, Sebastian.’

            ‘Do you really, Kurt?’

            ‘How can you even ask me that?’ 

Sebastian barely manages to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

            ‘I know you hurt each other in the past -’

            ‘- Get to the point, Sebastian.’

He frowns at Kurt’s tone.

            ‘My _point_ is that he thinks _Douglas_ needs him, Kurt.’ 

‘I went over there to tell him -’

            ‘You still love him.’  It is not a question.  Kurt nods and in that moment Sebastian wants nothing more than to hold him – to give him what little comfort he can offer, because the man in front of him looks so broken, and open.  It shocks him slightly and he trails a finger against the ridges of the cut-glass tumbler in his hands.  ‘What did he say?’

            ‘Douglas showed up…and I couldn’t…’

Kurt trails off and Sebastian sighs into the silence spreading between them.

            ‘He’s not happy, Kurt – not like he was before.’ 

            ‘He looked fine when they were kissing.’  Sebastian snorts slightly, rolling his eyes at Kurt’s petulant tone, but manages to hold his tongue.  His facial expression must have given his thoughts away however, as they are interrupted by Kurt’s insistent ‘It’s not like that.’

            ‘Looks an awful lot like it is, Kurt.’  The other man glares and Sebastian’s eyes soften in response.  ‘It’s never too late, you know?’

            ‘It feels like it is.’

            ‘Show him.’

            ‘What?’

            ‘What he’s missing.’  Kurt’s brow crinkles and Sebastian huffs a little sigh.  ‘Do I really have to spell it out for you?  What did you used to do together for fun, and I don’t mean the sex stuff because I’m sure now that Douglas is back –‘

            ‘Sing.  We used to sing together.’

            ‘Of course you did.  Well – try that.’

            ‘You know…I think you may be on to something.’

Sebastian rolls his eyes but cannot stop his smile reflecting Kurt’s.

 

-+-

 

            It is Rachel that provides him with the perfect plan – her _Funny Girl_ tech rehearsals are hectic and she had been flapping about her Sondheim performance for the Mid-Winter Critique.  She had been trying to convince Kurt to perform a duet with her for weeks so he had jumped at the opportunity to suggest she ask Blaine to sing with her.  He had been concerned that Rachel would lay in to him once she discovered he was trying to repair his friendship with Blaine, but instead she had been surprisingly enthusiastic, declaring Kurt a genius and then spending the next couple of hours formulating a plan to convince Blaine to sing with her.  Apparently Kurt’s mission was now also hers, but she had not mentioned anything about a duet when they had met Blaine for the vigil, instead acting as if Blaine had never almost slipped from their lives.  Blaine, to his credit, had not called her out, but simply let her take his arm and tell him all about _Funny Girl_.  Kurt had followed a step or so behind with Artie and Mercedes, lost in his own thoughts and pointedly ignoring the looks they kept sending him.  _Could this have been what his life would have been like had Blaine come to New York_ with _him like they had planned?_

Cold and tired, but unable to sleep, he had shared hot chocolate with Rachel when they got back to their loft.  Snuggled under blankets together, Rachel had given him a curious look but had remained silent on the topic of _Blaine_.  However, the next morning, just as he had been about to leave to head over to meet Blaine for coffee before class, she had asked him to suggest the duet to Blaine for her.  He had not bothered to question her as he was simply grateful that she still wanted to be a part of the great _Get Blaine Performing Again_ plan.

So Kurt was positively vibrating with nervous energy as he sat in the cold metal chair at the coffee shop – Kurt’s choice this time; a little place across the way from the NYADA campus.  Blaine seemed to be running late and Kurt hums a little in frustration because Blaine is never late.  Before he can get too worked up by the _what ifs_ invading his consciousness, the other man appears from the steam rising up from the subway vents.  He looks a little out of breath and Kurt takes a moment to study the other man before he is spotted, attempting to gauge the smaller man’s mood to see how receptive he would be to Kurt and Rachel’s proposition.  Blaine’s face lights up as if Kurt is the best thing he has seen all morning when he spots him and Kurt’s breath hitches.

            ‘Hey, Kurt.  Sorry I’m late!  I had to run Douglas’ shirts to the dry cleaners and there was this lady –‘

            ‘Doesn’t he have staff to do that?’  Blaine’s smile crumples and Kurt mentally kicks himself for his quick tongue.  The other man’s jaw is tense, eyebrows flat lines, eyes huge and dark.  Kurt sighs.  ‘Well, you’re here now.  Want your usual?’

Blaine’s chin dips a fraction and Kurt quickly heads over to the tiny, coffee-stained counter to order their drinks leaving Blaine to guard their table. 

            Pull it together, Hummel.  You can’t be an ass every time he mentions Douglas.  This is not about you; this is about being a friend.

            ‘I can’t help feeling that I’ve done something to piss you off.’  The voice is small and so un-Blaine that it runs down Kurt’s spine like iced water as he sets the mugs (real mugs here not the usual cardboard cups) on the tiny chequered table. 

            ‘I’m sorry – I just…I have a lot on my mind.’

            ‘With the Critique, of course you do.  I really am sorry for being late, Kurt.  I know how busy you are.’

Those damned burnished eyes are going to kill him one day.  Kurt squeezes his eyes shut but Blaine’s expression is burned into his retinas.  He takes a deep breath, inhaling the rich scent of freshly ground coffee, letting it overpower everything else.  His eyes flicker open and catch the tortured amber of his companion’s.

            ‘Let’s start again, okay?’  Blaine nods his assent, and Kurt tries to soothe him with a smile that hopefully looks less forced than it feels.  Blaine smiles a little in response and Kurt feels his own smile truly begin to bloom.

            ‘Okay.’

‘I actually wanted to ask you a favour actually.’

‘Oh?’

Blaine sips his coffee before deciding to add one of the sugar cubes from the little bowl on the table between them.  _So far so good._

            ‘Rachel may have mentioned it last night actually…?’  Kurt lets his sentence hang at the end to try to pique Blaine’s curiosity but Blaine merely shakes his head slightly in response.  ‘Well, she won’t stop going on about it to me… So.  Mid-Winter Critique…’

            ‘Sondheim.’

            ‘Yes.’

            ‘It’ll be a good challenge.  Loads of choice though.  What did you decide on?’

            ‘ _Losing My Mind_.’  Kurt glances up – he had not meant to tell Blaine about his song choice.  His heart revs, but he does not give Blaine a chance to react.  ‘Rachel wants to do _Broadway Baby_ , you know it, right?’

            ‘Of course.’

            ‘Well enough to sing it as a duet?’

            ‘What’s goin’ on, Kurt?’

            ‘Rachel wants to do it as a duet, but she’s not sure how to split the parts up and I suggested that you could maybe help her?’  It comes out a little rushed, but it is out there on the table now. 

Blaine frowns slightly as if looking for a catch. 

            ‘Uh, I don’t really…’

            ‘Please, Blaine?’

            ‘I know she’s capable of doing this by herself, Kurt.’  Kurt pleads with his eyes until Blaine shakes his head slightly and smiles a little.  ‘Who’s she planning on singing the duet with and what style does she want to go for?  I’m guessing more Bernadette than Elaine?’

            ‘Definitely more Bernadette – but possibly with some more pace to it – especially at the start?  She wants to add some choreography.  Thank you!’  He is aware that he is grinning, but so is Blaine so that is all that matters. 

            ‘I haven’t said yes yet.’

            ‘But you will.’

            ‘Fine.  Tell her to come over to mine and to bring her duet partner – I have a piano there so it’ll make practice easier.’

Kurt nods before taking a sip of his mocha in an attempt to look a little more pulled together and a little less manic – it also gives him something to do so he does not have to correct Blaine’s assumption that Rachel has a duet partner already. 

            ‘Let me give you Rachel’s number.’  Kurt places his palm face-up on the table in expectation.

            ‘She actually gave it to me last night.  I thought it was odd at the time…’

            ‘I’m surprised she didn’t ask you herself.’

            ‘Hm.’

The silence stretches out between them and Kurt takes his time pointedly not gazing longingly into Blaine’s eyes.  Blaine seems a little distracted and Kurt wonders whether he should ask to accompany Rachel to Blaine’s for their rehearsal.

            ‘So – Mercedes looks well.  Artie too.  I didn’t get much of a chance to talk to them last night –‘

            ‘No.  Rachel was monopolising you.’

            ‘Considering last time I saw her I was a little surprised.’

Kurt nods, unwilling to dive back into that particular polluted stream of torturously toxic memories.  Blaine seems to pick up on Kurt’s mood and so drops the subject. 

            ‘So, what’ve you got planned for today?  More fascinating lectures on Corporate Law at Columbia?  You must have exams coming up, right?’

            ‘Nope.  No exams.’

Kurt frowns at Blaine’s clipped response, but, noting the tension that is gathering in the other man’s posture, he decides not to push.

            ‘So – when’s best for Rachel to call on you?’

            ‘Uh…  Douglas is out until late tonight – he has a conference call with China so I’ll be around all evening.  Or, maybe tomorrow night?  When’s her performance?’

            ‘Wednesday.’

            ‘That’s really not long, Kurt.’

            ‘I know – she will owe you one.’

Blaine hums a little response and Kurt decides to go for it.

            ‘Would you mind if I joined her?  At yours I mean?’

            ‘Oh!  Of course.  No – that’s fine.  That would be…nice actually.’

Kurt smiles softly and Blaine dips his head.  Something in Kurt’s chest clenches at the familiarity of the gesture.  He clears his throat and finishes his coffee.

            ‘So, I have to go – combat class this morning so I need to warm up.’

            ‘Oh.  Sure.  Okay.’

Kurt frowns a little at Blaine’s apparent lack of interest in the topic.  They had had numerous discussions when they had first become friends about the many types of stage combat – Blaine had been on the fencing team at his old school and his bedroom had been littered with trophies.  Kurt had never been particularly interested in the sport until Blaine had insisted they watch _The Princess Bride_ together.

            ‘We’re fencing…’  He knows he is fishing but he cannot seem to stop himself.

Blaine nods a little and throws Kurt a tight smile.

            ‘I wouldn’t want to keep you.’

            ‘I know something you don’t know - ’  Kurt smiles as he waits for Blaine to pick up his reference and fill in Westley’s line.  He does not expect Blaine to simply stand, taking Kurt’s coat from its place on the back of the chair, and holding it out for him.  Kurt frowns a little and mutters ‘I am not left handed!’ as he slides his arms into the sleeves.  

 

-+-

 

            Kurt was not certain he would ever forget the sight of Blaine, bathed in the golden glow of the last of the sun’s weak rays, bent over the red and black piano – the door had been open when he had led Rachel out of the elevator and so they had followed the sound of the music to find Blaine.  Dressed simply in dark red skinny jeans and a black jumper Blaine had looked like a part of the instrument.  Rachel had positively _beamed_ at him when she realised that Blaine was playing an upbeat version of _Broadway Baby_ and had been seemingly unphased by the grandeur of Blaine’s home, Kurt on the other hand, was not sure that he could ever feel comfortable there knowing that it was a space that Blaine shared with another man.  Hovering just out of the doorway he let Rachel barge in to interrupt Blaine with a huge hug and a kiss to the cheek.  The look of surprise on his face told Kurt more than he wanted to know – Blaine had half expected to be stood up and had been so swept away by actually _playing_ music that he had probably forgotten the time.  Kurt smiled a little before joining his friends to catch Rachel’s line about how her ‘duet partner’ was sick and unable to help her and please, please, please could Blaine sing with her instead?  Kurt rolled his eyes at Rachel, and tried not to openly appreciate the sight of Blaine’s back as he walked around the piano.  Instead he appraised the room – it looked recently decorated; the walls were painted Dior grey and the carpet matched tonally serving to lead one’s eye straight to the feature piece of the room – the gloss black grand piano with its vibrant red interior.  Kurt’s gaze swept to the open curtains that framed the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that led to a small balcony framed with Art Nouveau ironwork that carried through the lily theme from the rest of the building.  The only other decoration was a large silver mirror over the painted fireplace, and a tasteful silver and crystal chandelier which was providing a warm candle-light glow to the room. 

            ‘I…uh…moved the rest of the furniture out so you’d have space to move.’  The sound of Blaine’s voice brought Kurt back into the room and he turned to watch as Rachel surveyed her territory before thrusting sheet music at Kurt.

            ‘Could you play while I talk to Blaine about choreography?’

Blaine shot Kurt a curious look before stepping aside. 

            ‘Uh, Rachel – I’m not sure about this.  There has to be someone else who could help you at NYADA?  Right, Kurt?’

Kurt opted out of the conversation and let Rachel emphasise how there was no one else who she would trust with her Mid-winter Critique at such short notice, before passing Blaine a copy of the sheet music and giving him a highlighter.

            ‘So – I was thinking we could split it up like this -’

            ‘I mean – will they even let me sing with you?  I’m not a student there –‘

            ‘Blaine, trust me.  We are going to blow them away – it’s really just a formality for me anyway.  After all – I won the Winter Showcase last year and I’m actually _on Broadway_.  Well, I will be in a couple of months anyway.’

Blaine’s wide, dark eyes flicker over to Kurt, who had taken up residence on the piano stool and was desperately trying to hide his disgust at Rachel’s overconfidence.  Kurt huffs out a small breath and tries to shoot his ex a reassuring look because this uncertain Blaine, this reserved and unsure version before him was so utterly _WRONG_ that it just reminded him _why_ he was going along with all of this in the first place.

            ‘No harm in giving it a try?’  Blaine seems to calm a little at Kurt’s suggestion and he nods slightly before almost jumping out of his skin when Rachel screeches and pulls him into a fierce hug.  Kurt cannot help but grin at the sight.

 

-+-

 

            He is definitely not smiling now.  It is not that he does not agree with Madame Tibideaux, actually the truth is the opposite, but he feels terrible for Blaine. 

The Blaine that had sat next to him at the small table in the pine-clad performance room had not been one Kurt had been familiar with – he had been _nervous_.  Blaine _never_ got nervous about performing.  Kurt had grasped his hand under the table, holding it tightly, and Blaine had glanced at him then – his amber eyes wide and open as Kurt uttered half-whispered reassurances to him.  Blaine had half-smiled and squeezed his hand in response, his thumb tracing the contours of Kurt’s knuckles, effectively reducing Kurt’s world to his left hand and Blaine’s fingers, until the music started.

As the song had progressed Blaine had seemed to come alive - he had looked stunning dancing with Rachel in the fitted tux, complete with dress studs and cufflinks that caught the light as his body moved.  Kurt had been unable to keep his eyes from him so he had missed the change in posture that radiated from the NYADA dean.  Not that he could have done anything to protect his friends anyway, because, loathe as he was to admit it, Rachel’s performance had been a _duet_ , not an individual piece.

The aftermath was ugly: Blaine had been utterly distraught, and even Kurt reminding him that Madame Tibideaux had been really positive to him at least (in that she had actually asked him why he was not a student at NYADA) had not seemed to help.  Kurt was frustrated by Rachel’s ungrateful attitude towards the dean for letting her organise a do-over, but he honestly had no idea how to handle Blaine.  The whole point had been to remind Blaine why he loved performing and to get him doing something he loved again and for a fleeting moment Kurt had honestly believed that the plan had been a success.  Instead Blaine had seemed to take it as a message from on high that he was not cut out to perform and that he had ruined Rachel’s academic career.  Rachel to her merit had not taken it out on Blaine – something Kurt was thankful for, but ultimately by refusing to listen to their imploring her to be reasonable, she had inadvertently made the other man feel a thousand times worse.

He had no idea what to do about Blaine, who had retreated even further away from him and was presently ‘busy’ all the time so he had been unable to talk to him properly, and Kurt had utterly come to the end of his tether with Rachel.  He had heard from the NYADA gossip chain that his fears had been justified – Rachel had quit NYADA – and to top it all off, Rachel was now late to dinner leaving Kurt sitting at a table for two, alone. 

Kurt ran his hands through his hair before trying to entertain himself by people-watching; it was ultimately to no avail.  His thoughts kept crowding him: he had no idea what to do about Blaine.  Santana was not around so he could not even ask for her council on the subject, and now his best friend was about to throw her dream away just because she was not getting her own way!

He stared into the small candle on the table as if it contained the answers, but all he could feel was the ghost of Blaine’s hand in his before the show.

 

-+-

 

            Blaine had been feeling out of sorts for the last hour – his chest aches and his gut consists purely of churning snakes.  Douglas had taken one look at him and gently pressed a cool hand to his forehead, brushing away a stray curl with the back of his hand as he did so.

            ‘Are you alright, darling?  You’re looking really pale.’

            ‘I don’t know.  I just came over all funny.’  He allows Douglas to lead him to sit beside him on the sofa, but does not relax up against the strong warmth of his partner as he usually would.  If Douglas notices Blaine’s pulling away he makes no comment.  They sit beside each other – Blaine lost in meandering thoughts, as Douglas works his way through yet another packet of documents, sparing Blaine the occasional concerned glance.

His cell rings again and he glances down at the caller ID, prepared to come clean to Kurt – he needs to try to explain… _Explain what exactly?_  

Blaine’s call phone had been ringing on and off since he had let down Rachel and Kurt at the Mid-Winter Critique.  He knew what Kurt was doing – Kurt was trying to convince him that it was not his fault and that Rachel should have known better by actually sticking to the brief.  Deep down, Blaine knew that the performance had felt _right_ – even the Dean had said their performance had been “excellent”.  He had felt, if not alive then something close to it, for the first time in what felt like forever, and he had utterly _loved_ it.  The applause and Kurt’s adoring face were ingrained on his soul.  Maybe that is why he felt so bad for Rachel – he had done it for Kurt, not for her.  He would give _anything_ to light up Kurt’s face again like his performance had, but that in itself was awful because it should be Douglas who makes him feel that way. 

His head swims and he is about to take the coward’s way out again when something sets the hairs on the back of his neck on end.  Why would Rachel be calling him?  His heart beats a wild tattoo on his rib cage and he feels his gut drop as he accepts the call.

            ‘Blaine!  Blaine, thank God.  It’s Kurt.  He’s at the hospital.’

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for any mistakes - I rushed this one out for you.


End file.
